I decided to leave this room
with its scent of flowers and light
and I guess
because I couldn’t sleep I want you
I could have driven the car
until it dawned
I could take one step at a time
on the walk to the waves
on the beach children play. Sand
glistens during the day. The night
is a shadow. There is nothing
but for you I confess
I thought it was the Holy Ghost.
It could be a rumour.
It could be the truth
I’ll be buried under the weight
of my lies.
It should come as no surprise the living
are no different
than the dead although the dead
can’t listen to innuendo and I can’t
pretend I saw flowers or the light
when the breeze is nothing
but the lightest touch I can’t
feel anymore. And I can’t
find a reason to talk
in between breaks, those times
you’d decide not to paint and I’d decide
not to write, we’d pretend to argue
in the kitchen as if re-living a familiar scene
you said like husband and wife and I wonder
if at night we’d be like trees, trees silent
in a pact with each other or silent only in sleep.
What then, of the way we talk, the way
we explore, the sighs and milky moans
from my open throat. I’d like to say I adore
your memory of a silky heartfelt deep kiss.
And trees sparkle as if in firelight.
Does longing have a glow?
Please, I really want to know.
(Note:-‘trees silent in a pact with each other’
from “Nocturne” by Tomas Transtromer)