Poetry

Grief of the sea,
cold lights drifting
over marble plains.

In a dialogue for freedom, a slave once
begged his owners, knees bruised by the rocks
he crawled upon. I kneel before my lover
shackled by desires. I become her slave

The flight was long. We didn’t touch.
Somewhere over the Atlantic,
I ordered my complimentary glass
of red wine.

the gods watched over. And it was briefly true.
The gods. Their attention.
When I was little, we lived on heirs’ land,

Last night, we made love for the first time
in a long while. You held me as you always
have, a little uncertainly, and then with resolve.

Darkness without
 

Up or down

Lying heavy in lightness

It isn’t the most beautiful town on the coast,
but I adore it: the crumbling friary said to be haunted
by the Black Nun, the stone house on a short cliff.

Bathed in sun & its fluorescent bloom, I walk
            into the narrow track along Old Taylor Road.