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)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s