Thursday, 27 November 2014

Listening to Apres un Reve, Late November Afternoon

The fog, in swirls, sets out to hide the dying of the light,
The Acer's red against the grey opacity,
Merely fades into obscurity.  And sight
Becomes redundant anyway;  the only necessity
In these blissful moments,
Is the capacity to float on melody. The night,
The fire, the English drawing room fade, dream like,
And all that remains is this strange complexity;

Each note a cycle, just a frequency, 
And yet, mysteriously, loaded with beauty.

Tuesday, 4 November 2014

What is the Opposite of Aubade?

The tapping of your toenails on the floor,
then silence where the runner lies along the corridor,
then over Turkey carpet at full speed
and through the air to land beside me where
I lie anticipating this ritual, this need
to bond again and to establish once more
that we belong to each other, as we did before.
Before the darkness closed our eyes
drooping my lids over sandy and tearless spheres
dried by the fire and brilliant screen
and my absence sent you to your basket
and our souls inhabited different worlds in dreams.

Like breaking fast this routine is necessity, indeed,
it is the foundation of our understanding,
not just our love but something deeper,
a telepathic link between our minds.
But it starts with this greeting, this physical connection:
your wet nose in my neck, the curve of your head,
your silky ears against my face, this convention
of  reunification after separation,
this greatly joyful meeting, which I adore.