no longer there

 

no longer there 

 

it’s such a long journey to the other end of the sofa

he’d have to put his book down and crawl out of his bunker of cushions

climb over the TV and other defences

he’d have to pull himself out of this car crash

and swim to the surface

 

it’s such a long journey to the other end of the sofa

and there’s so much baggage clumsy and heavy

the terrain thick with roots and traps

and the map is worn thin and folded so

so that it falls apart in his fingers

 

it’s such a long journey to the other end of the sofa

that language tires stumbles into sleep

and he can’t read the invitation can’t even get it out of the envelope

of his pocket of air so thin here so steep the climb 

here beneath the weight of stars he tries to breathe

 

it’s such a long journey to the other end of the sofa

there are so many stations so much distance to cross

the compartment overheated overcrowded

the window busy reflecting inside and out

and arrival was never the point of his destination 

 

and maybe you are no longer there

immortality

immortality 

 

not forever

but long enough perhaps

that when she’s in her seventies

divorced or abandoned by death

and her kids have gone off

to live in those other lives

they too found by the roadside

a cheque will come

so there will be wood for the fire

a bottle of inexpensive sanguine Sauvignon

uncorked   a steak sizzling in the pan

a few cracked peppercorns a little cream

she’ll take a book down from a shelf

open it to this page

she’ll take a knife   and fork

and there’ll be blood in the sauce

she’ll raise the glass   and I’ll be there

just me and her       cheers

pixel

 

pixel

each morning

when the sky is opened

on that day’s blinding sun

on that night’s translucent moon  

a zillion stars hidden in daylight

    a one and all those noughts

are still shining in the closed cold silent dark

 

find one   choose one   just one

and nail it to your heart

open cloze

 

Imago fails the open cloze test    

 

a word

the word

the one word

just the one word

just the one just word

that would heal the wound

we're after us

we’re after us  

there is a window

the outside world is now all but occluded

branches of a tree   a small triangle of sky

a patch of darkness

 

we are inside

there is a construction of sunlight

fitted to the walls   laid across the floor

polygonal pieces in the puzzle

there is the mathematics of shadow

cornered   an algorithm of photons

 

the room is empty

there is no furniture

there are no curtains

there is nowhere to hide

there is   finally   no narrative

we can suppose a door

a way in   a way out  

 

there is a witness   spectators

those who see the geometry

of moment   of time   of light

of borders crossed   of life shelled

the shape of things    the symmetry

things that are lost   things that are held

Hopper  Sun in an Empty Room

siódma fala

 

siódma fala 

 

this is where she lives

this is her house

this cycle of a song and dance

see how she sways and swirls

whirls whorled in a world aroused

around and around the flow the waves

count them   count the ways

cascade   cataract   maelstrom   drought

the confluence of water echoed by the wind

tornadoes stretched to derechos    the arabesque

flamenco and a tango she can do the fandango   

solo ostinato      there’s no control then there is   

the calm   the lull   the lullaby   the whisper and the shout

the voice giving out   giving way    to spiccato

her body her music is prey to the bow

the draw   the back arching   the release

an arrow in flight a performance a show

tracing a cardioid path

such height   then the descent

straight to the heart   segue

a sequence of love   happiness   betrayal   hate

 

the duende   oh the duende

  

read about Duende

listen to Manuel de Falla 'Jota'

family album

family album  

 and a here with a granddad unknown unknowable

indefinite epithets unilluminated a stern expression

a serious face of his age deftly inscrutable

a granny too indistinct crossing a distance

yet focused a deadpan gaze into a stillborn life

that stares back like a knife

then a father young almost handsome smug with potential

the future a wild animal to be captured and caged   beside

a mother inside her beauty peering out with uncertain

apology in a smile that never quite reaches her eyes

and an Imago windswept with the then and the now

caught in the gusts of a life stiffening and cracking

already brittle with rust