It was in 1985 that

It was in 1985 that
Chris Drury created
Shelter for Dreaming
In Friston Forest, Sussex

We are now in 2019
You yourself might work out
How many years
Have then passed by

Chris’ work
Was a structure
My work
Is a pure indulgence

I was, in 1985
For the most part
Thirty-three years old
For my birthday is in February

During current research
Gaston Bachelard
In his Poetics of Space
Reminds me

For a knowledge of intimacy
Localisation in the spaces of intimacy
Is more urgent
Than the determination of dates

So where was I in 1985
And where were you, or where were we
We all might wonder, mightn’t we
Just as you and I might also remember

For that is surely
Where this work should begin
Doesn’t that need to be the starting point
For refreshing those most intimate moments

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Conclude

A manifestation of what is
What is within
Those being-born-again walls
Of this body

More walls than any room
Or ceilings in any palace
More memories to the ounce
Than any senses

Don’t count the hours
Or the days
But listen to the stories
Being baptised by your breath

One gift of perfect hope
Mutual enjoyment of the thrift
It is to your advantage
If I go away

There was beauty in the reading
From the sensations to the soul
From the fully realised
To the entirely unrealisable

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Sums

Compline at eight PM
Not so many tonight
Only three in the congregation
Would there be more at nine PM
Or would there be less
What is the purpose of the time shift

06:30 for Matins
My last morning in the calm
Though not so quiet
What with the wind
Howling around
Outside the Abbey

The big man so it seems
Is not a morning man
Oh but how wrong I am
For here he comes
How swift
I am to judge

What else but to be alive
What more might one want
Than to become
More personable
To become
The full person

Where I have been
With love
I have carried love
Where I have
Carried love
I have been with love

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Tipping Points

There are no tears
But there could be
Tears of joy
Tears of loss
Tears of confusion

Measure by measure
To live the life of love
For she is not through

I hope to visit you
So that our joy
May be complete

I feel my skin
I hold my own hand
I breathe my breath

I am thankful
To have met you
It was a benediction

Yet the questions carry on
To purge oneself
To cleanse oneself

To love oneself
World without end

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Conspicuously Inconspicuous

A better turn out tonight
Ten in the congregation
Seven of them women
And nine monks
Including the big one
Who I have not seen
For such a long time

I am warm with the sun
I am warm with the passions
One of the brothers is yawning
Which sends a message
For the big one to sing
Or to concentrate
Where has he been
Where have I been

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
The big man fiddles with his book
Either he has lost his place
Or he had never found it
Now he sings from memory

The new man didn’t face the front
Quite so soon as all the others
One black mark then already

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