Robert Verdon, #352, Tryst
Share
an hour with me
I’m
sitting on the pink swing
By
the baby health centre
Watching
a spider.
I
love you because you’re unloved, like me
here’s
a gate with no key under the broken stone —
the
baby house is locked against itself.
On
the thin-shadowed path, moonparing-lit,
we
may unwire like bonsais.
Our
lives will wear thin together.
Through
the web I see
an
impetuous glimmer in the east —
a
crouching beast?
a
monsoon in a biscuit tin
came
inside, half-starved and thin,
turning
the town to crumbs.
you
laugh
you
say
I
see
dry
pleats in desert stew
fountains
in an Islamic garden
a
silver button not found on men’s clothes
the
shining tines of a distant city
And
I discern
an
iron sail dipped into an ember sea
an
orchard of bells
a
stile between two wildernesses
a
ship harrowing like a tractor
Whitened
memories
Sweep
through my blue mind
From
yours
Droning,
eagle circling high over the playground,
Eternal
wind.
Let
us lie, and
pretend
To
pass into haze …
"So
you’ve taken up —"
We
share our wry pasts
Under
a pumpkin sky
Like
the bowl behind the eye.
In
the duskwhorl
the
moon quakes
We
strew marigold
Down
the linseed lane
Here
and back again.
Please
stay
I
love you because
You’re
the raga of my youth
and
my ravaging future
Home
at last on holiday
Forever
beneath the low orange ceiling
And
the stained stippled pane.
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