Saturday, 15 October 2016

1 New Poem

Auf Widersehen
When we see again the plummy starlight
pattern plays between our golden year
jingle-jangle of bracing for cold
with old-sewn covers, warming
with the clammy cross of June willow,

it shall be as fire had never known
its own truths.

When we meet again our hand-me-down
feeling, textbook diagram of lovers
running a world’s strange turnabout to
have still a strength of memory,

it will spool like spun straw
to floor in karat lock.

When we dance again a pallid spectres,
midhour’s fog of wandered smoke
still speaking its craggy little tonebox
tune of empty-worded promise unpassed,

it won’t be like last we did:
so-lead-foot, so humbled.

Rather, that Sonnenallee strut,
that smile of twisting tales until