Poem 212

I’ve always been romantically inclined towards the image of two people not needing to speak and underneath the not speaking moving through a seismic process of aligning perfectly – nothing was said for an hour or more – fell in love as a Bill and Boyd song from the seventies has it …

( I like the flow of this, the sense of rain on the roof, a warm room with a view … )

Silence

Structures of silence stud our skyline
buildings of deep yellow light pauses
      rooms without words
windows sweeping the world into them
you yawn let your magazine ruffle
shut
           your heart is beating
           your breath traveling softly
           that point in your neck
pulsing the shape of its shallow
blood and you are silent
your wrists eloquent
the fall of your hair

            I am not looking at my book
            I am reading you
the hollow pale world surrounds us
the rain splashes our names
into puddles
                           stay here
           without saying
anything

stay here until night
tips the afternoon together
with the morning until we meet something
we must name
and hear our voices oiled into one space
our words leaping centuries
to arrive perfect
in each other's 
mouth