Standing at the concrete wall
At the lookout spot at the top of the Conor Pass,
Your hair a mess of copper wires
Caught by the wind,
You remarked on the
Shadows of the clouds
Moving across the sky and
Blocking out the sunlight.
I like to think that you were the sunlight.
But does that make me the clouds?
Were we the wind?
Is now the shadows?
As I trudge along to the stop
Suitcase in tow,
The broken wheel scraping the
Icy concrete footpath,
Your almost-incredulous,
Crooked little smile sits
Right in the edge of my vision.
Blurred ever so slightly
Like the webs of ice
On the leaves above my head.
So early, cold and quiet.
Even the birds know better
Than to greet this half morning.
I wish I was in bed
With you
Under four layers of blankets.
Cocooned.
Toes touching….
I pull my hat down tight
And hand the driver my ticket.
11 more hours.
Sometimes
I would like to live with you
In a wood cabin on a lake.
Lying awake at night
By an open fire
With your hand on my cheek,
In my hair,
On the back of my neck.
A Star of David
Hangs in the window.
A pine wreath on the front door.
The pop and crackle.
Your breath in my ear.
The wind at the chimney.
It wouldn’t be so bad.
Mostly I feel
That I don’t know
What I am.
Continually in the
Wrong place
saying the wrong thing
(And rather loudly at that)
But when you
Rested your head on my chest
As we stood before an open window
And gazed out across the skyline
Burning in the dwindling sunlight
I forgot about that
For a while.
The pillow
Where I have lain my head to rest
Is steeped deeply with you.
Your delicate scent but also
The slow curve of your cheek,
The gentle rise of your breath
And the lashes of your
Half
closed
eyes.
When I close mine I can almost feel
The the groove and judder
Of your spine beneath my fingertips,
Your feet, warm,
in the small of my back,
And the moisture
On your open, waiting lips.
Nights like tonight
Are what living was made for.
Even if I nearly
Ended my own ability
To keep doing so
By standing in the road
Waving at your car
Until it was out of sight
With the starlings
Wheeling about overhead.
How did I forget
It could be this fun?
Through the dark Swiss night
The fingers of my mind
Stretch out to caress you
From your little magpie nest.
Though it is cold, I am
Warm without cares.
You light such fires in me
That threaten to burn
Unhindered and wild in my chest.
For so many days I had thought
Ill of this entanglement of hearts,
This engagement of my will.
It threatened to undo me.
But now I realise it was all folly
And foolishness of my heart.
For you are the one I see when I
Close my eyes to the darkness
And your face is all I wish to see
Upon my waking.
I have avoided my heart for so long
But with you it’s so easy.
I don’t have to second guess myself.
The pages of the books roll open
Coloured in ever brighter shades,
A rich melted green the most vivid.
At night I close my eyes
And dream of you
And in the morning
You are still there.
On the train from Les Laumes,
Rushing backwards away from you,
I can feel my heart stretch out
Like elastic. The pull grows stronger.
We fly past lakes and highways.
The greens of a forest brush by.
Trills of your smile shimmer
In the window’s reflection.
I had been waiting for love.
Staying up nights expecting
A knock at the front door,
The hesitant mumble.
I had prepared slippers.
A favourite mug sitting ready
For a pair of gentle outstretched hands.
You push a strand of your
Peacock hair back over your ear
and laugh at my jokes.
You’re so beautifully quiet.
What I had learned of love’s face
I studied in flickering movie screens.
And what I knew of her devious ways
Only through the experience of others.
You smile and keep your mouth shut.
We may all wait for love
But we cannot wait forever.
I blow hot and cold into the night.
All these shelves are full of cobweb covered photo albums.
I pull them down and rifle through my mind.
Fingernails properly groomed,
I empty my love into you.
For one night at least.
But I awake to find a different person
With veiled, shaded eyes.
Fingers reach out to greet you
And then retreat
out of what? Fear?
You walk so forlornly down narrow country roads,
Dragging your baggage along behind you.
Eyes fixed firmly on the sky
You tell me to stop following you.
I can’t help feeling
That if I could only stop feeling
Then this would all make
So much more sense to me.
But instead I scratch my head
And draw a line in the sand.
A line that will not be crossed.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 