Out of the blue
In the depths of meditation
No desire for clue
To love’s indebted accreditation
One breath in
One breath out
One verse read
Of the Night Prayer
In to the new
Sidestep the contemplation
No path or shoe
To love’s indebted accreditation
One bell sounds
One bell decays
One thought happens
You peaceful soothsayer
That new or blue
That breath of meditation
That surprise of truth
To love’s indebted accreditation
Would it do
To spend all day
Writing poetry
What would it do for you
To learn that my day
Was for writing poetry
Would it do for you
That my day, all of my day
Was spent writing poetry for you
Shoo
Would you say
Be away with you
How dare you
Spend all day
Writing your poetry
Spend all day
With your mind on me
While you write your poetry
I thought
To turn to mathematics
Or at least
To the order of things
I read that hatred
Was strongest
In those who used to love the most
Or words to that effect
Then what of avoidance
What must have been the previously
High powered pushing power
To make one ignore one
Or perhaps disconnected
That is, empty words uttered
Devoid of all or any feeling
What makes that person tick
Also, what of sarcasm
That fully illuminated put-down
There for all the world to see
Why would one do that
Or what of:
Whatever you want next goes here
What of turning back the never ending tide
Of unrequited love, or affection
I bring in the invisible
For the days
When you were not there
Of which there where ample
That is not to say
For the days
Before you were there
Of which there were way too many
The invisible to the indivisible
Towards the same
For the before you
For the you thereafter
Swathed in luminous light
Bathed in dilated darkness
Impervious to pleading
Reading into, all that you ever read
I push on with the invisible
For the you that was not you
That is not to say
For the I that was not I
The indivisible to the invisible
Towards the difference
For the I before the I
For the I of you thereafter
The meditation did not bring me here
I came of an altogether different accord
It was in a way a choice-less choice
Yet I was the one who made that choice, wilfully
With no one else in mind
Compassion then only for oneself
How else might that be
The storms are over
The days, the nights of rolling thunder have died down
The hours, the hours of sheet and fork lightning are over
There is a calmness abroad
Yes, it may well be superficial
If I should explore the surface I may well disturb it
That place, that stillness, that tranquility
Which this early morning gifts to me
Where I am able to think back
To reinvent, to recreate your kitchen table scene
Even earlier in the morning, before light breaks
Moments when I imagine you would sit
To catch your thoughts, in a letter which you send to me
