Monday, May 23, 2016

A Tree For Gemma

a tree for Gemma

A sheer is drawn back
from an upstairs window
by a hand traversing an arc,
half unseen.
A man looks out and down,
catching my own eye-line ascending
from John's Square.
It's a momentary intersection
of private perspectives,
an unexpected transgression.
The white curtain immediately drops
to cover four panes of glass
in a Georgian frame.

Rain from a cloudless sky splatters
my shoulders
with formless damp shapes.

It's fifteen minutes to four on a Saturday afternoon.
I have travelled here
from limbo
on three successive trains.

Wedding bells sound from the cathedral
as young lads in suits down pints
at the Square Bar.

A crow with a crooked beak tilts
a sharp head at an uncomfortable angle,
from its dancing perch
on a weathered headstone.

A space is made for a young yew
in a protected corner
of the building.

These elements I gather
and inscribe
in a black notebook.
Words are a bond that bear witness
to this perfect and unforeseen
conjunction.

Here promises have been broken.
And here they will be renewed.



21 May 2016

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