Still Loving

The quiet eye

underestimates

our ankles,

soft against

each other;

 

idles in

the under-

ground tavern

I sweep

in my mind,

deep into corners

and back

caressing

the wall.

 

I see

mid-tones

and heavy

jaws of the dark;

a few words

sifted, careless.

I’ve seen them.

 

I’ve seen you,

fly into a

man’s eye

and out again;

nearing the rope

I keep

in the cupboard.

 

Distant now;

a thousand

coloured balls

spin

across the

pupil.

 

Out of the room

I see you – white;

splash a bee

on the brick-work,

kick on your back

and see me

at the window.

 

14 February, 2018

Me; Orator

Tell me, stranger

–  your eye amplifies me –

Are my words away though,     as I hear them?

blown out      damp as the night air.

 

It’s owned in my brain; tight

until I speak             and ooze.

An ear of mine cranes, in exile – a dog.

It can     not    near    the master’s voice

 

that creeps    and climbs    and peaks

at the white hair of your temple.