You hurry for a train that keeps you waiting
then you glide into the emptiness of evening
as the light slants exquisitely over the fields.
You phone sits by you. You want it to bleep.
The train just gathers speed.
You only glimpse the perfection all around you.
Still you resist. The female ticket collector's smile,
the poetry swimming in front of your eyes
lulled to momentary sleep then deeper.
What more are you wanting ?
Life like graffiti, these wild flowers on the siding,
all in the gaps between.
It's her you're wanting. Beauty.
The whole of your body.

The train arrives. You alight
Moving inexorably. Beautiful bodies
Faces, all going out this evening. Not you.
You move into the emptiness of the evening
searching for the bus that replaces the closed line
past The Big Issue seller. It will arrive.
You only have to breathe into this evening.
You only sense it will all be provided.
You walk into the silence of her absence of reply.
It beckons like another life
while you go on wishing in your mind.

But not this evening. Somewhere
the two things begin to coincide
what is—and you. The black door that opens
the beetroot soup waiting for you in a white dish
the lack of spare key that means you're staying in
and the garden full of high twilight birdsong
like a cathedral echoing…

And at the moment you agree to it
she writes; her txt arrives.

You have already agreed to the beauty.
A small rain of blossom begins to fall from the sky.
And the party music three gardens down
rides beside your hand tracing the silence
until, with a timing as perfect as her smile
etched in the lighted doorframe…She arrives.

May 21st 2011
The Lotus Foundation

« back to poetry list