Both Sides Then

It is hard to be on the cusp
Of inspiration
When one is on the cusp
Of just beyond the cusp of pain

It is hard to feel for different times
Or different lives
When one is held in the difficulty
Of ever-present pain

And so the same for love and joy
Which may be glimpsed
But cannot be held square on
When pain is an obstruction

Yet it does no harm to test the water
To look back on records, photographs
Notes of the good times, and the bad times
To let pain know that it also must share you

And then still to have the wherewithal
To sort, and move, and catalogue
Such that naught will be lost
And, when the day free of pain arrives

One will be able to begin the rebuilding
To trawl and rediscover opportunities
Which in the moment meant so much
And which in the future will mean more

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Obscured By Whether Or Not

Raindrops on the washing line
Mist hung over the pampas grass
A morning of copying old files
A morning of reading past histories

We are we where we are because
Because we said the things we said
Or we did not say what we did not say

And altogether it appears a bit untidy
Things not being where they ought to be
And also things just where they should be

You were angry for a time, as loss
Put you off your track, derailed you
But now you are back, you are, back

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Gradual Recovery

There is no more sleep left in me
I am as it were purged of the tiredness
I cannot though yet jump for joy
Nor wave the semaphore to welcome you
But I can feel that life is returning

I must be careful, take care
Do not rush, do not hurry
Which of course is not my natural style
Dive in headlong I would mostly say
Rather than to step steady on the way

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New Year Reading

You held my words
In your hands
Just as I held my breath
To hear your projection

I wrote those words
With love and kindness
More half-hidden
Than right to the fore

Yet, after only a few tunes
Your reading gave love
Pronounced love
Offered love to all

I heard your words
One by one
Just as you paused for breath
Before further creation

I wrote these words
With gratitude at the very core
Yes, as the absolute
Primary purpose

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You Carried My Pictures II

Between the snapshot, and the memory
Between the unconscious, and the record
Between the turntable, and the story
Between the love, and the thoughts of one

Collected for the keeping
Collected for the looking back
Collected for the rites of reclamations
Collected for the love, and the thoughts of one

In the years, and the months, and the days
In the vacation places, and the regular houses
In the youthful years, and the times before
In the mind, for the love, and the thoughts of one

Envelopes, to send them back, and send them forth
Envelopes, in which to hold the minimal index cards
Envelopes, of which most are now half empty
Envelopes, carrying the love, and the thoughts of one

Tempted to make more of what appears to be missing
Tempted to burden what’s left with inordinate weight
Tempted to find a rationale or a recollected reason
Tempted to become the love, and the thoughts of one

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