All The Dull Doors
We were in a park, the sunlight
scrumptious above us and the silence so
thick you could spread it
with a butter knife.
A spree of belisha children
waddled their way through the playground,
and I was expansive:
told you in fact where I'd lived -
there for three years, and across
a thick limbo of trees, there,
there, there. I revolved
my planets round your perfect star.
There, there, there was no comfort.
You summoned up the gates,
the dark gardens of twenty years -
all the dull doors
through which we'd never walked,
the emptied tables across which
we'd never held, like honey,
the future in our hands.
You were umbrage, dumb, lovely
but heaven isn't anchored
in a litany of old harbours, haunts.
So we'll walk together, beaming,
through the white haze
of new moon light,
conjuring parks and promises
from the past we are casting
now, like a look
over our shoulders, now, here.