it is still winter
and I still
do not quite believe
spring.
all the reasons of the world are laid bare to me,
I have spoken with Death, I know his cause.
I cannot even claim to misunderstand,
to obfuscate, to confuse, to deny;
not even the energy of bewilderment, and panic.
I saw at the beginning that the world was born
and the ending was sheathed immediately therein.
if only grief had not worn in me a track -
but this shape will not admit any joy.
there have been ten thousand nights
since I knew you well enough
to tell the colour of your eyes.
you were the companion on the way,
your foot wore the hollow in my road.
now I stumble over the shape you left me,
this lock rattling with no key.
and I tell you now: let go of the rope; become a drowning man.
the impossible is overcome by life.
shed the skin you collected from others
like a caddis-fly, carrying all their flung stones.
now new-come to the end of the world,
fling away the seconds as soon as they’re counted.
we stay here, laughing.
as though, on waking, you found this:
not the way back,
but the possibility of finding a way, any way,
back to the seed and root and branch;
when the chance had been lost before memory,
and before memory, only loss
as a child feels it, without understanding
where it pervades, and what the poison kills.
impossible to expect, looking
at the old, sharp bones
that roses will bloom on them.
each winter whispers
that each spring is uncertain;
but the end of autumn is sure.
as a gift, take this fractious heart
when you expect it to rebel,
prepare it to break.
I have gone ahead of you
and set the forest afire;
you complain of the light.
you have said: fear keeps me
from the hungers of others.
yes- and, being no food, you are carrion.
the heart is counting out the winds;
windows shake against the strength
but the house remains firm, regardless.
I came across you, lost, claiming
you had already found self and all;
you drank grey water for good wine.
allow yourself to leave the warm home,
though the winter snow has already tread
the garden underfoot.
the same black road waits, no crossroads;
you’ve known where to go, which
river lies beside you.
I will send a moon through clouds
and weary stars, cold in heaven.
listen for me in the breath of space.
and black earth bent over in hills
fixed in common grief,
the weight of enduring too long.
go on, trackless, through no more doors;
you are going past your choice,
heir of your folly.
cease to struggle. in this now, drown without breathing.
let it frighten you awake
from the nightmare that housed you.
it is neither as good or as bad as you wanted
only this: that it was, like a husk that grows wings.
leave it for someone else’s meal.
this and no other night is ready; we must go.
leave your senses by the fire,
walk on into darkness.
pierced with swords growing backwards
and a boat, at the very end,
I have walked in the first dark forest; I have hungered and craved all night,
for the stories told in the heart of the lightning-struck tree
and the stones of the path – devil take them,
who would not speak to me while I stood upright.
lying down, I knew I would not wake again any same way
with knowledge bruising my limbs, bloody and bare on the earth.
I stood to tell the tale; I rose running down the track
carrying the weight of a lost fable on my poor shoulders.
you have shut the door tightly, drawn a latch across night
curtained away the stars; called the constable to deal with the drunken moon,
the candle burns on your breathing, and the attar of the fire is fear.
I have held a promise, and the name is let me in;
I built the house; you have made it a box for lying-in
and your heart is frantic, and disturbs your silences.
there is a scratching at the door – will you not hear it?
perhaps all has gone away. surely that is the pale dawn in a corner
and not old bones, howling away down the road.
though I promised, my steps lag behind -
I cannot finish this way,
nor see my end before I began.
I will praise the winter sky sometime longer
before I come in. leave the door shut,
leave the window. don’t watch me weeping
out here, offending the stars,
breaking silence with my noisy unrest.
just leave me until spring
when the lashing rain drives me inside
I’ll find a fire to warm me then. go on.
leave the door unlocked, or at least leave the key.
we’re here at this crossroads; at midnight
you were always the traveller, bright as the moon
greeting every departure with the best smile.
now we’ve arrived, and your road-song’s gone quiet;
where is the river’s chuckle after it flows into the ground?
where are your door-openings? your broken paths?
all the ways lead here, though you tried to turn the road
trick the guiding stars, keep the black dog at bay.
love keeps me from your side tonight; we’ll carry on soon.
