Day
1 - Beginnings/Endings
How?
The casserole
A bottle of wine
Booties
Or
The casserole
The touch of hands
Tears.
*
When?
Today it is the latter.
Too far to carry
the burden of casserole
I cut back
the foliage burnt black
in summer’s heat.
I drink red wine
I touch the keys
and sing Gospel.
*
Why?
Other times
I have read diaries
and understood.
I missed cues
failed to imagine.
Anger dried tears.
Suicide: a gift of life
handed back
to its creator.
Day 2 – voyages
i.m MF 370
The search continues.
Each traveller now expecting
each take-off & landing perilous.
In the seventies
relief at not having
to spend weeks all at sea.
In the sixties
experiments with decompression
made ears sensitive.
Each plane crosses my sky.
My piece of sky.
My clouds and stars.
They are busy with clanking
hearts and mantras.
They wince at turbulence.
Two hundred and fifty, say,
searching, but for what?
Something other?
To leave this island.
To find Shangri-La.
To create a distance.
Each journey an act of faith
that the pilot is keen to live
that landing safely is inevitable.
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