The throes of Valentine's Day is as good a time as any to post a poem about longing. I wrote this about _____ ?
I will come for you in your city of towers
of howling expressways
of banyan trees made islands
of hope searching reclaimed earth.
I will leave a hint of fingerprints on double-glazed windows
tight against dust and tempest,
heat and loss.
I will come inside the bubbles of your laughter and
blow them larger. They will envelop us and carry us away, high and careless and
dizzy-me-ree, over the pulsing sea. When the bubbles burst we will float back to
earth like dreams who are still learning.
I wear the garb of anymood, tailored for seasons that
wear at knee and elbow, that tug at forelock and conscience, that are
ready to be shucked before known but are worn on
regardless. Nothing ceases. Life is too
big to fail.
Dust is bustled aside. Ants set in order their sacred homes. Air calms its
quarrels between high and low pressure with
swords sheathed, uneasily.
I am called to walk where your feet have walked. I place my steps
gently within yours, testing for fit.
I will hear the breath of your sleep. You chant hyms in Tibetan. I
sit on my mountain-peak of nothingness, watching you.
You are reflected in planes circling, landing, resting and
grazing on asphalt fields.
I glide in the ether of expectation.
I did lose weight last week but I'm bored with talkin' about that stuff. Overall not in the greatest of humours: to be how it is what am feeling I it is sucking.
Your regular service may resume next week.