Sunday 1 November 2009

Poem 20

oh day!
who cares about the new that is already old
the search of the searching search is searched
rested apeace in a lake of lilacs
by the beacon light
your lack of character was the last wound
met all round with a sharp knife
for a sense of orderly normality takes over
and aligns the books and records
retaking a leaf, a misty passage
suddenly erasing the memory of the garden bench