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

I See a Red Rose “I see a red rose” shows us three things – “I” – a simple fact of consciousness Or awareness; “See” – shows the sense Of our action. And, within that act Of seeing, we have The concurrence of perceptions (Color, shape, quantity, etc.) Considered as a single thing – “A Red Rose”. “I see a red rose” – You see, There’s nothing romantic about it.

Deliquescent Bodies (Love Parade) I hope for night; it comes; it is here; it comes with rain & river, & the lights are electric. I am offered a drink & the mercury blue neon over the door catches my eye, tears open the retina, imbuing the optic nerve with cold cathode gas, ionising my nervous system to the limit. Breathing carbon dioxide, I metabolize my own body. I am a pillar of ether by the exit door. But I’m not alone. We all matter less than we did before,

There Were Two of Us This Morning There were two of us this morning And there are two of us this evening, And we go on because love is two, Two people, the two of us inseparably so. A doubling that is not a doubling, Not a double presentation of the same, But one as supplement to the other. Neither one nor the other, but both, We are Two, one along with the other. Love is Two and this is what Oneness really means.

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,

in your eyes, the sun in your eyes, the sun is dazzling white, the wind shifts your scarf, blows through the gaps of your coat. for me, nothing shines or moves but the tall candles swaying. the song of the dead plays on, the music of ghosts in the choir stalls. for you, it is not the dead that sing, but angels of light hovering over the water, the spray of white ocean on their wings glistering. in your eyes a reflection of the light in the window, the same light that hits

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