Antony Christie
Aubade
sometimes I bring a new poem
once flowers
more often nothing but myself
to the table you have set for me
in your square kitchen,
before the sun rises
golden or thin yellow over the flat marsh.
I eat what you offer,
toast, honey, fresh fruit,
savour the coarse sweetness of coffee
you brew in a steel jug.
thus we have made a ritual of compromise -
we have come so far now
the future no longer seems impossible.
Page(s) 40
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