Swell

...Yet when we came back, late,
from the hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
speak, and my eyes failed,
I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light,
the silence.
-- From The Wasteland, by T.S. Eliot



i called your name

a deaf response
from
the broken glass
all come to rest

shattered images

what can we bring forward
from borrowed love?

clenching our faces up
and worrying about
what is ours
what once
was not

what flesh can i clutch
from honest purposes?

i wandered
through grievances
and personal
price,
coming up in intervals
to glimpse a saviour's
face

-- but it is changing,
and hazy,
drowning
in the blue swell
of promise