Monday 5 March 2018

10/20


here in spring the sound is quiet,
sea lions purring in the sun,
paradise ducks winding through the
mist—the mountain asks
“what can you leave behind?”
one after another that took millennia
to grow fade in the dusk and clouds.
This unsettled land with landslides
And temporary waterfalls asks—
“how can you begin again?”
whenever the rockface is
suddenly clean in a blanket of
beech trees, I see myself slipping,
grabbing hold of the wall,
the letting go—
long drop into the water.
I do not know the answers.
I cannot say what makes the water
In me run soft when I think of you
Or how in the silence
Of water passing between
Cloud topped mountains I feel
As if god and you
Are the only words left.

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