Almost Shipwrecked on Byzantium

I

There will always be better words waiting.  Hewn from
the territory of loss, erupted from joy at love’s motive
–  refusing entry – at calling down,
straying from the paddock/ crunching as stubble,
caught out, irresistible in the turning key’s summons
wandering beyond polite conversation,
holding down sheet music blowing past
the snatch to retrieve what cannot last.

II

A rickety piano accordion scrapes and wheezes. Leaves harry
bare feet the northerly chases, sheaths of sounds unannounced
–  spring and crash – the buckle’s bursting,
tattered fragments of chorus/loosed by ayr,
break away, tenanted melodies shed the landlord’s bond
settling in gryphs or scripts of language lost,
leap in faith no ponderous thing to where
the corners are turning in thought’s glare.

III

The blind see in hand as the deaf hear by touch.  Come down
drifting shed of failing senses, toss all about this harbour of trees
– in the weary roll – buffet the cork,
brace divine cascade/serenade a sleepy siren,
chisels pillared, forbearing dimensions to last forever
out of the long transit of swaying passage,
speak in knowledge the tactile years away
remorse prowls the wasteland of eternity.

IV

Keel hauled memory lingering in a shiver.  Dazzling thaw
learning templet stretching out, casts off the rust of old cocoon
– tattoo frieze – bleeding dyes colour,
cored ice delivers/old to new and back again,
dreaming walkabout, shawl of avalanche cures rift
arrogance to think a door’s not opened here before,
bobbing in languorous continental drift
strike out now for the patient shore.

First published in ‘The Leviathan’s Apprentice’ 2015, now in ‘Abandoned Soliloquies’ pages 17-18.
Painting: Gustave Caillebotte ‘The Yerres, Effect of Rain’ 1875.