I’ve come through nettles
to a place where
you are charming.
It is not only the pen
that must write well
it is also the paper
that must take it.
I hold my hands up
and the way you take them
is not what I expected.
You and I are never
of the same mind.
Nevertheless I’ve found that even after hours covered by thick blankets of cloud, there is a reprise just before the day ends and if I manage to look I see the city bathed in a beautiful oblique light just before darkness descends. One last hope before the dark.
In this light I will
accept you with a second grace.
Everything is beautiful
in this last light.
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