53

Neither in the making

Or the breaking apart

No point in raising stakes

For already it is a broken heart

Straight lines and primary colours

As if by Mondrian from the very start

No more might Piet be her brother

Beside the surging River Dart

Impeccable if not indeed precise

Serving Martini, Vermouth chilled with ice

Nothing if not respectable; a career

That careered without a single vice

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52

So far is far away, so far is by my side

So near is nearer now, so near, here for the ride

Into the canyon

Out of the stream

Into the desert

Out of the dream

So long is longer gone, so long, gone again

So time is timely now, so time, to dance in Maine

Into the starlight

Out to the moon

Into the heavens

Out there in June

So distant is distance, so distant, to define

So yearn as if yearning, so yearn one last line

Into the meadow

Out to the falls

Into the moorland

Out to the calls

So future are futures, so future, by the by

So hope for the hopeful, so hope sees the sky

Into the arms

Out of the alone

Into the embrace

Out of the stone

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51

I ought to have risen early

What with the end of Arturo Bandini

And the poem by WB Yeats on my mind

As it is I meet the sunlight

And the raindrops, and the wonder

That life might play so many games

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50

I have no more idea of why than I do of why not

All I can say is that the choice was limited

And the opportunities for foraging were scarce

Yet, at that time of life, I was a business winner

I had studied mathematics and statistics

I was au fait with the odds, the chances of success

David against Goliath was a role I often played

Sense and sensibility having not yet been offered

But, just as the sunlight falls, on the painted twigs

I saw a shaft, an opening, a pathway, a reflection

Of colour and beauty, of vibrancy and joy

And that's it, I had no more idea of why than that

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49

I am at one, here in the present

Stoking up the fire with logs

From under cover out in the frost

I was the lucky one, then as now

Finding a shoulder to rest my arm on

Whispering sweet nothings; nothing no more

In search of symmetry

I recognise that the wood storage boxes

Need their own force of realignment

And where did that fine light go

Did it sink back into the heavens

So I suppose; suppose nothing no more

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