John Gladwell
The Sadness of Nets
Surrounded by the sadness of nets, your heart beating,
can feel the pulse in the side of your neck beating,
can feel the taste of your lips on my skin,
the taste of my skin against yours,
in a beauty so deep it sets
the air that surrounds me on fire as a ship,
whose lights have stood,
a barrier between me and sky,
now disappears, or comes in view,
whatever tricks this dawn can play it plays,
on your face pale with absence,
on this shadow across your cheek, so cold,
beyond coincidence,
beyond any hope
of that ship still waiting,
its destination a rumour
I now wait patiently
for you to deny.
Page(s) 59
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