1 New Poem

Dispatches

I could parrot the same
hunt-peck type clatterings
until wandered time lets go
its flaring radiance through the 
blank space between stars.

I could spend the half-life
of cold former suns starring
into you as a moonlit shape
shorn of gauntless fault
and dancing on river edge.

I could hold you in robe
of memorial, the back corners
of mind where dark words
crept across swampy moorland
I look back on in ages.

I could write of it in block
shape, breaking waves of
illuminated shore you swam
back to, against a battered
old ship stock I keep

Ready for the telegraph tether
I wander in the space of your embrace.