Saturday, 16 November 2013

Swinsty


I know that in your thick and cold stone walls,
exists some abstract part of me
and one day when I am no longer here,
I shall return to you again, as in my dreams,
when I glide the old familiar rooms
and see with unbelieving eyes
and wish to rearrange,
the furniture and books of others,
whose taste is strange.
And that flying thing I do in sleep
as I gaze down upon you from the beams,
whose shapes and patterns
I knew intimately once,
will be a real sensation, as the means
by which my spirit moves around.
And I shall marvel at the warmth you now contain,
which rises up to meet me in the hall,
not from the open fire
where, as a child, I sat an inch or two away,
but from radiators,
where I will stay,
hovering above, so in the shimmering
heat my spirit might be seen,
or experienced as sudden shivering
in someone else's spine.
And I shall float about the solar
or inhabit the dark oak,
like death watch beetle,
and meld myself
With the transomed, sandstone mullions,
soaking in the southern sunlight,
as I sift it through my soul,
knowing, once again, that you are mine.




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