Alone all day with books, I'm not alone
(diving time-warp, splash from marbled boards);
there are repeat apologies to father's shade,
and, quizzing idiot search-engines for prices,
seem to meet myself to-ing and fro-ing;
and burrow face in masks too many times
(pacing, declaiming molded features of the verse,)
sampling all these personas, that
self itself seems sample. Crazy?
Step out to engulfing seclusion where
the sky and trees collude at dusk to draw
innards to a hollow inverse of that bubble
bathyscaphe made of all the day,
that it's not I tasting time but time tastes me,
and, like the kine in a Samuel Palmer scene,
feel the curve of the void blossom night
and hear the nightingale sing in the lane;
and know such home, though it must leave me.
..................
The marbled boards are the inner hardback book covers, called 'boards' in the trade. Up-market editions are marbled. In I splash to read the 18th century verse or whatnot.
Nightingales are returning to the Norfolk scene.
YOU ARE READING
The Singing Season
PoetryThe Singing Season. That's the spring-time. You'll also like other MajorSeventh poetry collections - and there are so many to choose from.
