Summer has flown in (at last) with clouds
unseasonable, weighty. The day’s grey and the night
is even darker. All the while
droughts of laughter, of that ‘one’
we all can think of, can’t we: one who never
lit a sky, maybe, but smiled
with pearly teeth, with giggling squeals
and lit something up in us. Now it feels
like Summer’s brought us clouds (at last) to stifle smiles
and let squeals pass.
To clarify: a sunny stream (bear with this, now)
skipping, tipping musically down-wind,
winding in meadows, through balmy valleys, straight
out of a Lake District post-card. Lush and warm.
Feel this post-card glossy in your fingers, see the stream
in green, in glorious green, so clear (chocolate, incense, ice-cold beer –
all the same idea).
Just take a flowing stream for now, embraced by lilting, whistled breeze
and watch it freeze.
Or – turn this post-card over on its back
to really get the message. Read out loud each longing sound, juicy but void:
the stoneless plums of love. The ‘need you now…’. The ‘don’t know how
life sounds without you’ – well… I’d overlooked the tune.
No matter. Quietly, now, find the final word
(not my name, the word just before – the penultimate word) and now
you see what this is all about;
pick up your pen, unsheathe a sword, watch the word freeze
and scratch it out.