Friday, 7 June 2013

Last Poem for today, from about 1980 I guess: it's called Sunday

SUNDAY/ The Door-less Room


he sits in a room
where the walls tilt away in ratios
that he doesn't have ways to understand.

there is a window at the end of the room.
the window is half opened, half closed.
the room is white
with the warmth of a dwindling summer.

autumn's mercy is at the window.
a season of leaves.

brown small birds skid on air.

air ploughs, almost brown,

spirals into white warm song.

she is in the yard.

he senses the sound of her skirt

in the fading breeze.

among the leaves.

beyond the yard are ten thousand yards

beyond his thoughts

there are ten or twenty years

leading to the sea.

there are twenty seas ending on shores.

on the twentieth shore

there is a yard

in that autumn yard there is a window

behind that window

he sits in a room that seems to glow

the window is open now

and so he climbs out.

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