Witness

Witness

I am the last witness in this town.
The last one not diving
In the quicksand nightmares
and the darling dreams
Of England.
I stand sentry at the window,
With the shadows and the light,
While the air of summer
Breathes against my skin.

I am aware of tenderness:
Its strength and its necessity.

Love must be the sonorous bell
And the giddy race of the river.
The steady hand on the plough
and the quiet building,
Day by day, of a home you want to live in.
Somewhere rosy, and strong enough,
To house your laughter and to give you rest.

Sorrow will stain you, as richly as the tears
Of the dead sunflowers
Would stain your hands,
And you will need a shelter.

A friend, a lover, yourself.
It doesn't matter.

Love must be the first moment of the morning,
And a spell of singing.
A whispered prayer to life, 
For all that lives.

It must be gentle.

You can be broken
By the love that cannot bow, 
And lay at your feet
Its vulnerabilities and glories,
As splendidly as the spoils of war
Are laid before the monarch.

Do not let yourself,
Or anyone else,
Forget to hold you
Like the only one of your kind
Who will ever be.

Fire

Fire

Apples

Apples