And so I return to that rehearsal
at which you stole centre stage, your exit
through the auditorium double doors
breathtaking, jaw-dropping, Prima Donna.
Contrails slice the sky and let in summer,
green varieties bewildering rhyme.
The day insists on nothing, blue and kind,
but sun-cream and indulgence. Loneliness
has no place in solitude's ambuscade.
Languages formulate themselves: all say
to be me is to be more than missing
but to be AWOL with the golden fleece:
a poem, a piece of prose, a fantasy -
just lazily to meet your smiling eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Gifts and Shards Vol 2
PoetryThis is the second and final volume of 'Gifts and Shards'. This takes us from the second month to now well over three years later, though there were many C poems in the collections tracking the seasons. There are no similar stories!
