Kenneth C. Steven
Finding You Gone
A patchwork quilt of fields,
Cluttered villages, strung out along roadsides like clamshells.
Then another air, the yelping of gulls
And over a hill the whole grey weight of the sea
Unrolling like giant white carpets on a beach.
I walked down, huddled deep in a jacket,
To hide from the gnawing of November cold
That came in longships from the north.
Nothing there but blown away bits of birds
And an empty hugeness. And you hurt me,
The absence of your hand hurt like a knife wound,
Somewhere inside;
The wind and you made soft salt tears on my cheeks.
Page(s) 40
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