harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
i saw how she hollowed out like a rotten tree that stood still, refusing mouthfuls in the calm of her will; telephone calls muffled as lips lost the light scattered above branches — and i saw the rings loosen on her fingers which i felt cool as old roots in my hand.
'this too will pass,' says an oak tree to a sorrowful sapling amongst weeds when sickness settles in. i try, i try, to see silver linings in the hands of my best friend — first love that once sparkled by the bay — palms upturned, read and beguiled a while back by a lighthouse in nighttime rain.
i count the shards and squabbles of my glass house, where it once stood glittering, but now the windows are stained red, soaked by salt as the covers of our bed.
under misty lamplight and amongst boughs — you come to see me hollow as the plum tree in the driveway decaying decades ago.
i still offer you a fruit from my tarmacked tendons anyway, bittersweet bite on my breast marks a half smile as you eat me out entirely — this too will pass shone right through the glass even through the rain in the dark.
(03/08/2018)
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