time alone
is what time needs
to cure the loss
of time itself
depth itself
may be abroad
to emboss the depth
of depths of days gone by
days gone by
may salvage claims
to carry the days
beyond the days
when love itself
was aware
held as lovers
in the arms of love
arms themselves
without folds
to wrap around
the joy of hope
a weekends necessities
in a plastic carrier bag
a navy blue wool overcoat
over a body of love
footsteps filled with presence
a mind way out of its mind
fridays and saturdays arriving
then disappearing
into irregular building blocks
as befits the sand and sea
an altogether wobbly foundation
for the commencement of love
fearful
from that summer onwards
of losing you
fearful also
in the very beginning
of not getting to know you
joyful
that we both
came across from the other side
joyful also
in the steps one by one
where we found the beauty of beauty
cleared of the fear of longing
i become open to the suggestion
that the times on the telephone
carried more than the message
there through exchanges
and handsets
where dew
on bakelite transcends
and dials dial
imaginary numbers
such that the distance
collapses to love
in the cavern of abandonment
where grand bells echo to the work
in foundries of sand and iron and lead
where molten rivers flow
filling every corner every crevice
every wish-fulfilment moment
in the cannon of those abandoned
where dust and silence remain in line
with the thought-transference mind
where peace and love and goodwill
become the triumvirate soldiers
steadily but surely continuing together
