It's not only others who come and go;
it's also me. I come and go in droves,
bringing me a party, then sagging me low.
And now the summer's gone, I say farewell
and leave myself forlorn:
I vanish in the nettles on the hill
or dip behind the rowan all in flame;
I white-wraith into birch woods'
silver, vanishing smiles;
or down from the cave-mouth, picking
my path, I slip-slide till my clumsiness
dissolves in wind-gush wished in leaves.
I am swallowed by ripe maize-fields' green seas.
Alone in the waking, working world,
now I see your ghost, that still remains,
regarding me reproachfully and sad.
It had never left me once, despite
the cackling things the others-of-me spat -
the jeers and calumny.
Though I often curse the one who left,
I cannot curse what I am left.
Come closer, then;
peer over my shoulder;
let me feel your look.
Between us we will struggle
with this rending book.
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!
