From a small space
To a nowhere place
A meandering stream
To a river in spate
From a village
To a county
Which I call my own
Yet where I don’t belong
From a main road
To a motorway
Over a suspension bridge
To a walled city
Where love
Invited me
To the gallery
Then the theatre, and finally the hotel
Wallace Stevens
Let the fish go
I hung-on
To our sea-fret moorings
Now I talk of Saturday’s sunlight
In what is the overlong season of mists
Looking for a thought
With which
To begin the day
A place perhaps
Or a wave lapping
On a sun-soaked beach
Looking for a light
With which
To illuminate the idea
To present a future
From the past
Or maybe the present
You are here
Here in this house
Here, in this room
We sit together
In meditation
Also, in the bedroom
We lay together
To become closer
More-so than in love
