O  my precious-
Leaving looms as a huge black vulture before me
And I am terrified.

I cannot buy him off with tears or with pleading
And I cannot hide from his seeking eyes.

All the courage I promised myself has fled me
And I tremble alone in my fear.

What will become of this raging inferno
When the winds of distance fan it.
Will it flash higher or gutter and die.
The colossal dark bird doesn’t answer.

He only stands watching
As uncaring clock hands
Drag me ever closer.

The world goes out of focus with my longing.
Just one moment more, a minute, an hour-
A lifetime would be not enough.

O my beloved-
I hear his wings flapping, waiting for me
And I crumble.

Somehow I must find a face
With some valor in it that can say goodbye
And not drown us both in sorrow.

That can watch you go
For an ever of evers
And not cry out against our very  God.

I am so small
And your gift is so great
How shall I conquer this parting.

In this, my hour of panic I would sell all of my past
For one half of its time in the future.
But the ebony bird isn’t buying.

He’s only beckoning me
And I must go
And I MUST go

O my true lover, I must go.

She comes forth
like waves slipping over
the sand
again and again
delivered from darkness
coveting the light

And light is her signature.
A conundrum.
Light erasing light.
How can this be?

I will tell you.

Light is the companion
of the dark
trips joyfully in its shadows

And this dance
weaves a potent tale
of a two-faced goddess
one face peering intently into the dark
one lit by the morning sun

Yet darkness rules the day
hastens the twilight
gives measure to the
dimming
and finally
captures the last of the light
in a sea green bottle

We are drawn into that night
valiantly
or not
weeping for lost opportunities
or not
but at the end
waltzing into the unknown

Yet I do not suppose
darkness without light
according to my theology
a life that ends in simple extinction
cannot be
it is a null set

The fundamental equations
do not permit it
nor can my simple mind
fathom such depths

So in my dotage
I repair to wine and song
to ease the pain
of these uncertainties
and then to poetry
to catalog the human condition
and leave a trace
that yet might sparkle
in the instant of my demise

When  you  go  down  there.
The  settings  so  grand.
And  you  might  see  my  friend  there.
Playing  in  his  band.

The  sun  minting  coins
on  the  surface  is  grand.
Casting  shadows
across  on  the  land.

The  setting  so  grand  there.
And  fills  you  with  hope.
In  this  mad  world.
It  helps  you  to  cope.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK. 2017.

The rooks
Waddling
Up the roof tiles
Like drunken men

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

The  tulips  lift
there
smiling  faces
To  the  afternoon  sun.

­Keith  Wilson  Windermere  UK  2017.