Poem -


I have fired 
and razed my fields
to stubble. 
In the   cemetery where lie the bones
of poets and artists
and those who 
have fallen in the sevice of love,
l have let the grass
grown wild.
Wood Hyacinth and Campion
flourish there.

It is only now that
her heart,
like an old, disused door
inches open to let in sky, river,
And she hands me that which
she has kept hidden:
her laughter and the sorrows, 
her steel- blue darkness, 
the music of her loneliness 
and the ice 
of her fierceness.

I gather them all to me,
these lost children, 
with all the strength in
my arms and shoulders
as I move with her,
and around her
through her seasons and ages,
pinning her lights
and shadows
to my clothing like
darkly-glowing charmr.
Drawing ever closer
to her flame. 

and shadows