Wednesday, 4 June 2014
I Start A New Poem
Somewhere, this flight ended
It comes back to what I can’t work out: when exactly did I lose
control over the Atlantic? You give me no explanation
and I don’t think I've given you anything that amounts to a reason, yet
something unnamed has been lost though there is no evidence
except in my body which is scattered with messages
(I have come to understand they will never be read).
I sorrow this sorrow though I am not insensitive. I believe
the lives of the disappeared have an infinite significance. And this?
This is just love, love, which I've always feared - and you've known - has