Some slices of time I think that
It won’t really matter if I never see you again
and,in some others,the anguish of not
touching you threatens to be more than the
whole world can bear.It’s neither the
morality or the mortality, it’s something
like the lack of filling – which is no simile
but the only way known of outlining the
pain of incompletion. Clear as summer rain
at times; others, murky as the sea slopping
around sewage outlets. Mostly, though, the
clarity is instantly irrelevant,except it
spins out wishes for endless desert escarpment
broken only by skittering lizards and the shadows
of birds soaring in majesty and jagged
hunchbacks of dark rock.And the
invisible breath from heaven of sirocco wind,
land untrod by your beautiful feet but
none the less whole and wanted for that,
land existing firmly, an antidote to the
precariousness always smirking on the edge of
waking. I don’t know if you’d care anymore,
but really I think you would. Like
the thousands of dead starfish washed up
on the beach: I picture your face,your
body’s response,your hands reaching to
return them to the sea. Yes, you’d care
if you knew, I know you would. Choir
of seagulls outside; the drone of a washing
machine somewhere in the building. No date,
no time, no signature: This will do.
Did we ever need anything more?
.
Niall Griffiths
Picture Kyffin Williams
.