I found your black tie Between the warped slats Of the dresser drawers And a curled Photo Of you in Blackheath Smiling A hopeful day Head filled with the universe Limitless But that was you A dreamer they said And all around you Harder types Their spades clanging With symphonious legerity For the few bob They drank on Friday.
You left that place And moved home To the frozen sod Of your birth And still you smiled Your fists knurled Around a shovel Splitting turf for the fire. And all around you Harder types With reins and whips They only sought to protect you From the pain of wanting What you could never have.
But still I loved your stories You made me believe That the cawl and grog Was pheasant and port And everyday an adventure A bud on its axil You made me Into you A dreamer A sybarite And all around me Harder types Eyes stuck to their shoes So they can watch their step And charge me to Watch mine
She says to me, she says, my eyes are bleeding. She says to me, she says, my nose is hearing. She cries to me, she cries, my ears are speaking, they’re speaking to me, and I can’t hear you anymore.
Perhaps to love is to learn to walk through this world. To learn to be silent like the oak and the linden of the fable. To learn to see. Your glance scattered seeds. It planted a tree. I talk because you shake its leaves.