Nearness
I have trailed you in several senses,
hunger, acolyte, waif, trudge,
in the wood the figure following,
with my finger in the afternoon that found you,
vapour trail gathering its plane,
defining what you would have done
without me in the wide spaces,
among the possibilities
grazing with their open mouths
and their numberless tongues
running over you.
You look round in a flash of colour
the fish swim toward and are gone,
then I know I'm the waiting land,
the other shore that does not follow.
Page(s) 20
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- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
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- Staple
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- Thumbscrew
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