Absent, All But One

I am here
You are not
The clock only ticks
In the silence of darkness

It does this, this year
Next year, every year
As if it also knows
That xxxxxxx is the cruelest month

Why did you choose it
For your birthday
What’s that you say
It wasn’t up to you

Rather it was your parents
Who were to blame
It was one of their peak experience moments
Which brought you to me

Yet here you are not
Neither they
No, it is only I for whom
The clock ticks, in the darkness

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As Found, As Defined

Six monks in their place
Me, and one other
In the pews
World without end

This is the monks
First morning meditation
They are more settled
Than I

The Gyrovague
Who drifts from region to region
Staying as a guest
For three or four nights

I never settle; slave to my own will
To my gross appetites
Worse than a Sarabite
Pray, keep silent of my ways

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Back Steps

I gave to you, that is
I gave I to you
Or so I thought
Completely

You took that I
Gave things
From you to I
To bring that I to life

I grew that I
With your gifts
The I prospered
Yet, soon

I began talking
About people
You, I, we submerged
Disappeared from view

I raised my head
You remained hidden
It is, so I now understand
It is what, we people do

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Travel Time

It is as it is
The pain precludes sleep
The pain insists on waking
The pain pushes, or questions
All limits of mind and body
All extremes of love and loss

This is the first night
There will be others
Times, without sleep
Without mind, without love
Yet there will be meditation

In the middle of the night
Or at 03:39 to be precise
Not exactly on the dance floor
Though we could be flying out
To some villa in Tuscany for a wedding

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Savour

The only thing
Which is either deep
Or significant
In that last but one piece

Are the sloping margins
Which I believe are there through
A potent mixture
Of doubt plus a pinch of ecstasy

Doubt; because it was
Because it is, because
It most certainly may be, because
Most likely, it always bloody well will be

Ecstasy
Well once you have been there
You have been there haven’t you
No more to say than that

Oh what a mixture though
A veritable bacon and brown sauce of a taste
A definitive modus operandi
For the blessed as also for the cursed

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