Sunday 20 March 2016

from Blackwater Quartet, selection 80



Domestic Interior

Fanned spices tease the gods.
Our gifts, sustained with reedy smoke,
the scars confirming love,
are braided to a courser strength.

Consider this history your own,
makeshift, undemanding of the years apart,
the dates and incidents a habit of our lives.

Plump the cushions.
A curl of cat whorls knotty on the window seat
and paper lanterns dangle from a string.
This hushed response to shadow
repairs the stars.

Still, the dark
we planned our lives avoiding arrives.
Whatever time it is, it is on time,
everywhere, for everyone.

The letters you are reading,
I wrote where you are sitting, the same view
to the fall of yews and the sea beyond.
Everything remembered, you remember now.

This amends I make, this probate of blue sky
I swear was ours.

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