That sixteen-year-old words
scratched there in my diary
could bring the two of us here
seems almost supernatural
A spring-evening walk, so like us
the us we were as teens
when you were my first
and still my only kiss
as we walked the peaceful parks of home
Now, so many years stretch across
a wide valley of unshared experience
they squeal and dance between us
slowly and methodically we close the gap
spinning our silken bridge of words
I pull the feathers from your lungs
they’re knotted and tarred
dripping with the bitterness of isolation
they’re catching in your throat
Your silences
and the space between those words
they say much more
they say it all…
Your sorrow is a blanket of leaves
your sorrow is blossom that falls
and covers this park…
Highbury Fields disappears
beneath the tears I know you cry
in your silent room
from your hiding place
Recently, I read again of all you gave me
when the two of us were lost together
so I ask myself ‘what I can do
to help lift you from this place’
What can I do for you
what can I give to you
only my time, only my time to you
the healing warmth of resuscitated friendship
as we walk the adult evening
through this pretty park
And you can say it all
you can speak it all out loud…
Thanks for reading.
The Lighthouse 