Old music lies like strata quietly compressing
the innocent fern to essential gesture,
and a train on the small hours clacking far
is leaving for a blackberry siding.
Most of the night has been in dialogue:
incessant streaming of strange protocols,
a low incantation which woke all the ghosts;
the cracker, creaker, knocker, the rattler
of coffee spoon in dresser-stranded cup;
and next door's sleepless dog barked
in her intervals like a lost fog-warning.
Always the investment of desperate values
as heart-stock plunges and crashes;
yet in night's portfolio many ventures stir,
trophies of flitting chits and restless slips.
Though this day will plunge me back in
bed with you, reminiscing romance on the
grey page, kiss by clitoral-gloss-bliss tasting;
yet I will wring myself out at evening's dog-end -
to climb aboard a sleek, dream-liner.
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!
