by
Stephen Romer
One
Year
One
year on, the shawl is wrapped
soft
round my shoulders and you everywhere
no
messages since not a one
the
vigil the watch and pray I knew not
watch
and pray but that night I did
watch
and pray for all I could
except
you rose to meet my every move
in
the looking glass only the fire
saved
me from freezing at every move
where
you rose to meet me
in
the mirror and when I moved my
every
move was a wading through time
the
red shawl round my shoulders when
I
was terrified to take it off again
and
fall forever into the ungraspable
without
a hand-hold climbed the stairs
the
comfort blankiet my shroud
and
you not leaving the night light.
Then
you cleared your throat
at
the the end of the passage
this
is and is not, you.
Comfortless
Not,
you shall not leave us comfortless
as
comfort might be
sprays
of forsythia over stone
and
brisk steps on stone flags
going
early through the porch
a
trim little body
wrapped
against the killing wind
as
comfort might be
the
longer spearhead of light
along
the milled flags
at
the opening of the door
as
comfort might be
withdrawal
and ingathering
a
warmth among the ashes
at
the start of Lent.
TLS March 1, 2013.
TLS March 1, 2013.
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