& He said to Me -

It's The Poetry -

Where are your Poems?

& I stayed Silent-

'Can you not see them' she said -

through the Silence -

In My pictures -

what a Body Wants

to Live, wants to give

Can you not hear the Colours

of the Whole Garden I

have made in your Absence?

- Of Green, of Trees, of Flowers

& Hours

of Work and Colour

& Love .....

What about your Face -

Can you not see your Face in

the Flower

& remember your Body closely

pressed against mine like a

Wild Animal - a Beating Drum

like this Native Tangle

- that rush of heated blood,

desire, that Hotbed of Heat

that Boomed against My Heart

in its Tower -

''Oh I See - You Deleted them''

He said.

''Yes I had no Room''

& Silently she said - I had no Room

for the Words when the

Garden Arrived &

the Photographs Survived...

& the Home Belied the Fragrance

of a Rare Beast of Love...

 

That's when the Poetry Died.

​