Last night the wind came in
to my empty house, and the empty me
in my empty bed.
Buzzing and huzzaing and making free
with all the spaces it could play in
within all the rooms;
wuthering the heather within my head.
Oh, the ghosts of the house welcomed-in the wind
how well they would do without me, they opined,
and though waking, in the mirror I could see
nothing, yet I knew she sat on the end of my bed
and neither could I move my body nor my head.
But the wind grew merciful within her looms
and left me a dream of white sheep in a fold.
One had eyes gouged out, scars old and cold
and followed the flock by voice only,
serene and placid, disregarding me.
The rest of last night, through all the unrest -
fuss and farce, coffee-nerved Norns address,
I could hear the wind giggling in my rooms, and the booms
outside of her vaster delights through dark streets;
and the image of her white sheep and the blinded one
lulling my heart, inexplicably,
pure, cold, beyond me.
Now I wake, shall I close those cracks of windows
put the heating on at last
and turn up the dehumidifier to full blast?
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!
