Celia, the Sea Does Not Remember You Waves are not waves But the convulsions of a body That has forgotten the bones it conceals. The sea a wound that refuses to close. Celia goes there because the sea soothes her. She goes there because the air cools her. She observes gannet and curlew As one watches The slow collapse of a star. A big black sea bird stands in the surf Like an officiating priest. Its eyes are two shells Filled with the residue of night. Around it, strands of t

If the Rain in Warsaw Sounds Like This From a secret they shaped A room in London— A breath of space Lit by a single candle’s hush. Out there the war was cold, Close to freezing. But they were warm within. Stillness gathered. They listened to icy rain Softly striking stone— Each drop a touch, A covert word Only they understood. It was a fragile pact: Two selves from opposing worlds, Folded into one, Briefly, tenderly. Then a man fro

A Ghost As If I am not your keeper O ghost who crouches At the grave of my father. The body is dead; it is in the shade. A pale figure with a sheet for a robe rises from the earth (His hair black as ravens' feet). With cold-clay fingers, He could quell the soul’s fire. As if. A seagull cries In the salted air Like a baby Calling for its parents. There is blood on the land, Blood in the rivers too. You are not what you appear To thi

A Dark Illumination Once again, we are here, as we are on this day every year, two hearts lit up with pain. And as day falls into night, a little candle illumines this dim corner where we half-appear. And every flicker, like every breath, is a discrete sensation of hurt, one after the other. It is always the same. Her sitting there, Me sitting here (still wearing yesterday’s shirt). Look at the light. How can a flame smaller than a baby’s fist,

It Is so Sad / the Way Things End It is so sad the way things end like a when a plant dies and dies in a black corner and you’re done for. It is over like the end of summer. The green has dried up and the stalks refuse to dream. This is the death of light, I said, as if quotes were facts or neat sums on a blackboard. The world snaps shut, silence seeps in, lighter than air, colourless and tasteless like carbon monoxide. In here nothing moves except the shadows on the curt

Still-Life Ask her what she thinks as she conceals her baby in fallen leaves and detritus. Still-born, still-life. All that waiting, all that love unanswered. So many clouds with dark underbellies.

Confronting the Dead So, descend the steep hill Slowly, go on Go past the lunch cart — Scolding tea, coffee Hotdogs, burgers Fried onions, ketchup — — Succulent dark odours — Smells so foody — Mingling With exhaust of traffic — That they foment in your gut A hunger you didn’t know you had. Go ahead, under The railway bridge, turn right, Allotments to your left — Carrots, beans, raspberries Basil, rosemary, parsley Marigolds,