Poem: Waiting at the Water’s Edge

Another day of hope and nothing

slides into evening’s apologetic grey;

I’m in love, but I don’t know who with.

Somewhere, upstream of love

and poetry’s floundering strokes, she’s sitting

as fine and clear as the first gasp of oxygen.

It’s getting dark

and once more no one’s turned up;

every day’s just a poor copy

of how we want it to be.


(from Exercises in Unreality, Agàpe Publications, 2002)

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