Where is The Poetry?
& 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.