Thursday, June 13, 2013

A Ghost, A Shadow, A Broken Dog

And if I had said otherwise - how I want you still - what then?

We are each other's servant, bonded outside time - how can one negotiate it?

Who loves is outside the law of logistics.

And if I had said, yes, I long for you even now, and cannot bear the days that pass without your voice, your image, your insight, your love . . .

What then?

For I walk quietly where it rains, pausing by deer tracks in which tiny blossoms of honeysuckle drift, and you are there.

And by the pond where the heron waits, you are there.

In all the rippling and tides of the heart, only you.

And the rain seeping through pine, cold and sleek.

What prayer must I make?

Invent what ritual?

For you will not now follow me and the hills grow lonesome, the sentences arid.

Nor any longer do you walk beside me and thus I go without light.

Once - so sweetly, so briefly - as in a dream - I was home in you.

There are joyless hours, minutes that grieve your absence.

I pass along deer trails and sip from the rain-pocked brook alone, a ghost, a shadow, a broken dog.

I long for you - I am my longing - and nothing else is real - and nothing else lays claim to me.

The soft melody of you still renders me open.

In barest dawn I turn to you, I fall to my knees, weeping and empty.

Accept no salt: hear nothing but this: what is said in love cannot be unsaid, nor taken back: oh come to me now, you, who were the light of all my days.

No comments:

Post a Comment