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Isis

Life, the delicate balance - joy, living, sadness, knowing:
No rôle; no person as guide;
Only the decanter, here, as there where decades ago, we played
That Summer of Sun when your studies were books
Strewn
In the river-fenced garden and we, feigning wrestling, kissed
To love.

For two decades past, such immersion with Life:
One being-becoming from experience, mistakes
Since my selfish dream so stupidly selfishly hauled me
Away:

    While you married
    Keeping your father's house


So many questions
Which the long walk on a cold Winter's day I hoped might solve
Knowing, feeling - warm breath to cold air - the yearning
That left me speechless:
Warmth of one woman
Remembered.
There was snow then, falling,
While I walked:
Too late the footpath
Where trees, bush, blossom, languished
In white.


For
The dead are gone, with so many today so lifeless with living
While we, here, are as we are: failings, feelings, future, promise - fun,
For Life flows, until we are dead, or live as the dead:
No answer, as this river is only a river
Until its water reaches to seep into
Sea:
        Death seems very
        Long:
But there is Port
        Such a splendid vintage
And clouds, passing, bringing
Life, Summer
From Sun.




DW Myatt

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