Open that green door into the house
A flutter, and my heart with its visceral beat
Blackbirds and fowls running amok
Between the walls like antler velvet
Old oak beams groaning in time to the cobwebs’ string
singing black glossy feathers like comfort and warmth.
Come through the battered door, if only I could
I have everything to give, everything shaped
By you, unknown you.
The trees are silent in a gnarly golden wood
Floating above a beaten silver water’s edge
melting to sky,
And the blue paint chipped pots
Wait on the wooden table
pockmarked with soft red circles in a smoky whitewashed kitchen
I have dreamed of places to fill
And to be
It must be nice, it must be nice
To have a landscape loved pooling around
It reminded me of the burgundy shawl flapping
Bat like, bad omen, the moon rising steep,
Smoke rising, Vaughan Williams in grey skies, a false note on the river Dee
I see you, Haven.
I see myself, too.
If only I could
come home, finally, to pitted wood and
Sweet walnut gravy with caramelised onions
burnt in warm voodoo fires and old ersatz friends
The nut filled aroma of pleasant dusk and spat-out violet sparks
And light shining through the foggy day
Into unreal domesticity
It must be nice to have a thing loved,
For I will love you well, even the dead.
I have everything now
And all I am is waiting.
ink in sky 