Listening to the sea,
that dark looking glass
like the watchboy they ask
about the night, my brother,
the black mirror you see,
I know almost nothing about,
I heard a dirge of burning longboats
like the songs the dead sing
to put me to sleep, my death,
if I could tell you about it,
my Captain, I would but I slept
right through it, not dreaming.

Weary already, weary miles to-night
I walked for bed: and so, to get some ease,
I dogged the flying moon with similes.
And like a wisp she doubled on my sight
In ponds; and caught in tree-tops like a kite;
And in a globe of film all liquorish
Swam full-faced like a silly silver fish; -
Last like a bubble shot the welkin's height
Where my road turned, and got behind me, and sent
My wizened shadow craning round at me,
And jeered, ' So, step the measure, - one, two, three! '
And if I faced her, looked innocent.
But just at parting, halfway down a dell,
She kissed me for good-night. So you'll not tell.

Death stirs all ways like the wind
like something getting up to go,

and like the wind death doesn't
leave anywhere alone,

but where it is he travels with
whoever take his guiding hand,

gladly will I wait until
                     I die to understand ..

I'm the first to blunder ashore
******* a cloak around my nakedness.

He's cooking breakfast
as though nothing had happened.

No death on a tree, no empty tomb,
no walking through closed doors.

We share the bread he breaks,
relish flakes of sizzling fish

that juice our mouths, tang
the fingers we lick clean.

We pick bones from our teeth,
bask,full-bellied,and for a while

it's like old times, waiting for him
to speak, arrange our day.

He takes me to one side, charcoal
smoke snagging his robe.

"Simon, do you love me   love me      love me?"
He knows when I sit and when I rise

but is heart-sore for answers
I blurt across the hills, over the lake,

above echoes of ****-crow
only the two of us can hear.

How is it? That leaves
over another night
are not to last,
but to survive the frost,
and the traffic lights flood,
of slow and fast temper,
Is the closest to fuel
the red-blooded marrow breathes.

A few months I haven't called him

At the beck and call at any hour
And the shortest notice
A dial to him has saved many an emergency

Last night a broken female voice
On the other side of the wire
Mumbled he died on May 13

Left her with three daughters
At forty at short notice

The plumber is dead

Now who would clear
My choked wash basin

The plumber is dead
And I've no other number to call

I couldn't see her face
Gauge the faceless sorrow
At the other side of the wire

The plumber is dead

I must find another
And then rejoice
Forgetting the widow's choked voice

The flipside of the day

Brings a lot of melodies

Of painful journals

At most the moon and stars are dead

For those eyes that lament for the beloved

The breezy sound of the wind

Doesn't bring a beautiful song of serenity

Instead a tune of sinister

Darker than the night

Because the lullabies of every nocturnal

An echoing elegies

For those who were left behind

Sightseeing imaginary images

Whispering song for them

Every night

Still dying inside



5-25-2016

Mysterious_aries