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 and 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, of beauty, of vibrancy, of 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; I suppose nothing no more

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