(After Cavafy)

The sun flattens your vision
   to a wavering point.
      You search for a different sun.
         There is no other.


The wind stymies your breathing
   to an asthmatic wheeze.
      You search for a different wind.
         There is no other.


The sea shortens your journey
   to an anonymous port.
      You search for a different sea.
          There is no other.


The sky opens its vistas,
   vast, beyond your reach.
      You search for a different sky.
         There is no other.


The city blots your horizon
   with soot, smoke and ash.
      You search for a different city.
         There is no other.
 
The day dissolves in hours
   without number or name.
      You search for a different day.
         There is no other.


Beauty upholds its ideal
   like a statue without wings.
      You search for a different Beauty.
         There is no other.


The word pollinates the page
   with a frail, feeble sense.
      You search for a different word.
          There is no other.


The self mirrors the cosmos,
   a contracting black hole.
      You search for a different self.
          There is no other.


The poem laughs at your yearning
   for Art’s Eternal Form.
      You search for a different poem.
          There is no other.


So you write the same poem
   from the same shrinking self,
      with the same weakling words,
         seeking the same ideal Beauty,
 
On the same day after day,
    in the same ***** city,
      under the same endless sky,
         beside the same aimless sea,


Into the same stifling wind,
   blinded by the same soulless sun.
      And you call it a different life.
          But there is no other.

Sometimes I go into the city at night
alone.
Let the pavement trace the way without breaks,
get lost under the blue lights.
I go to the places we used to
and sometimes get a little drunk –
I don’t want to remember
but I have gravitated to these places
so maybe I should just honour
my cravings for you –
the sickly-sweet syrup
of your spit,
the saffron, sticky honey of your eyes.
We used to
do the same
together
as I am now doing alone –
let the concrete slabs
pave the way
without breaks;
going nowhere
and everywhere
all at once.

We're in the bathtub
Soaking our tired bones

We're so close to one another
Melting away the anxiety
And trying to face the fear that holds us back

God, I like you
Why can't I tell you?

The candles are burning and our skin is touching
The music is playing as you come closer

You kiss my cheek and I run the hot water
We lie next to each other, our bodies pure and bare
We fall asleep leaving the negative thoughts outside the door.

A hairbrush lies on the middle of a bare dresser
As dust cascades beside a sunlit window pane

A telephone rings out in an empty apartment
As the rain glows underneath a streetlight outside

A balloon is caught and disappears in the wind
Below the field of corn that murmurs as it bends

And that door doesn't close. I don't want it to close.