It was stupid of me to say I would have to go away.
And to say it to you.
Because there is no more or less here than where you are.
The past is no more, no less.
It is only further.
I often wonder if something in your chest went cold.
But you needed only to look into my eyes.
‘You'd find it there”, you said.
As if you knew there was something in me worthy of it.
Farewell to time
In the feeble golden city we walked the silent streets.
We were quiet
But I know by the way you look at the ground and grin that you are ready to speak.
I stare at my feet.
The green grass beneath flickers under a sun shadow sheath.
It covers your face. I catch glimpses brief
Of you on your side, ground to your cheek.
Looking to the foliage deep from where the sky seeps,
I can’t see you looking at me.
Like we’re restlessly asleep we move our arms, legs, feet,
Sit up, fall down meek
As you tell me of your week.
Moving in a circle, ever closer to each
Until in the centre we meet
And the side of my head can reach
The bottom of your neck.
I can feel you breathe.
Amongst yours my fingers weave and fall apart again.
They rest on your knee.
Then we stop moving.
We don’t have to speak.
You’re face down with your hands under your cheek
And my cheek beneath your soft smelling hair like wheat
That spreads from my eye to my teeth.
And I wonder if this is bliss,
Or just peace.
The church bells don’t sound like they did before.
All that can be heard is stiff metal clanging.
There is no echo or ringing.
Maybe the walls have grown over their pores, or the stone no longer wants to listen.
Or perhaps it is the bells, their insides rounded down and covered in soft scars.
Maybe someone has stolen the clapper and replaced it with a small spoon.
The throbbing bronze orb is nowhere to be seen.
My angel voice won't fill the space, when once I only had to whisper.
When I try to raise the holy ghost with semitones, the chant falls dead.
It is like I am singing my requiem in a plain of long grass, where there are no walls to sing it back to me.
I had not sung until today, and I had forgotten some of the words.
But today I sung in the plain. It is nicer.
There, the last note does not linger in the vaults.
The clapper was later found nestled in the grass, not far from where I was standing.
It had turned to glass. Someday soon I will put it back in the bell.
...I’ve stared into deep black waters at night,
seeing and remembering everything that once was,
everything that felt beautiful and exhilarating and unique to this world,
moments which looking back upon brings momentary nostalgia, warm,
filled with muted pain and soft sighs which will never be heard.
I stay above the waters edge.
I go home to my bed, tired and wide awake,
and dream of you.