wood worn naked round the chest
the gold leaf flaking
the splintered foot with its wormholes
two hands open
the forefingers cocked over
touching each thumb-tip
a thread of silence
of how I don’t know
in the nothing he knows
My need swells up, swallows its howl, stands like a rock.
Shape it, rub the rough surface bare-handed.
Polish it with the tattered skin of all these years.
As he arises, strides
out of the roar that was once a howl,
all that mass, faces peeling off, heaving with cries,
sees its strange beauty.
On the other side of solitude
the broad harbour
small boats perch on their reflections
an egret unfolds into its white
in the misty town
we’ll talk again