Our time it labours much more through my words
than ever it did with us, enthralled in thrall;
though I leap some days or weeks, where I land I stall.
To recreate I meditate; to lift I fall.
and my 'moved hands / a little way from the birds'*
both chirrup and fidget and draw melodious song,
the contours of words' hedgerows to flit along
like a wistful wren, green foliage to hide among.
When I go out from my house I leave you there,
stopped in mid conversation, or naked on a chair;
yet when I return, it is always myself I find;
evening has sunk you deep into long day's rind.
...................
*From 'Orpheus': W.H. Auden
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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!
