Unspoken

The first in a small series of poems about love. It's for Stew and Jean who loved each other very much. 

1.

"Do you miss her?"

 

Invisible silver sentences.

Threads of unspoken grief

fly like comets,

their icy tails an echoing silence

 

For once she does not speak to fill it

But listens, emanating warmth

 

Streams of tears forge their passage

 

I edge through

Or at least I did once

Willingly lowering myself into the abyss.

2.

We worship the pyramid

Swaying on the lay lines

Our hands reaching for the sky

 

He stands upright and alone

Preaching through his fingers in black and white

"My body is a cage

That keeps me from dancing 

with the one I love

but my mind holds the key."*

Afterwards we would agree,

"It was almost a religious experience"

3.

For weeks afterwards

I replay those lines

Straining to see through the Norfolk stair rod rain

Hurtling through the labyrinth beneath the city

 

Did he want to ask her?

 

It was almost dance like

The hoisting;

Rising and falling like a leaden waltz

Placid, he holds her gaze,

"Love alters not,"** she smiles,

Her silent cotton words echoing by the fire

4.

Tears prick my eyes at these thoughts.

And then again in the darkness

as I watch the diver

descent effortlessly.

The water cool, pure, liquid

offering relief and freedom from constraint.

 

Perhaps he sought the depths knowing what was in store

so that confinement was already familiar.

"You can't stop what's coming it ain't all waiting on you."***

 

The wind whistles on the plains

Each frame a perfect wilderness,

"I want to be there,"

I whisper into the semi-dark.

5.

Blinded by the fog of missing words

I did not make out the craftsmen or the witty daredevil,

I saw the ironic smile in defeat,

the choking frustration.

I heard the words that emerged as grunts

ugly like unmoulded clay.

 

He adored but could not comfort.

Resigned to her fate the last moments were calm

but he could not say goodbye.

 

Until she asked he had not cried.

6.

Timeless crowds pass by,

I stand before the small door.

They key turns easily and I pass through. 

 

He has gone ahead.

Sure in the darkness,

Unafraid of the depths. 

 

I hear the steady drip of water,

trains pass overhead.

 

As I hoped he is waiting. 

 

When he opens his mouth to speak

glistening silver threads stream out

beautiful and light.

 

The story begins and I listen.

Now I will know. 

 

*My Body is A Cage, Arcade Fire

**Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare

*** No Country for Old Men, The Coen Brothers