Into the Walled Garden HTML version

wrapped around his thighs,
of words and urgent sounds
and tarpaulin flapping on hay-ricks.
Worlds of wonder
and men in summe r away to fie lds,
whistling in the day.
A Broken Heart
The space in which he stands,
an antiseptic, green painted room,
assumes the weightless nature of water,
the liquid rising without a ripple
across his chest and into his mouth,
nose and eyes. His breathing ceases.
He fa lls in slow mot ion, watching the days
of his life d rown with him.
She was beautiful, a homespun bonny,
warm in bed and sharp on life?s edge,
quick witted and funny, hard as a diamond,
a dissolving cascade of soft pillow co mfort.
When he came home drunk on a Friday night,
beery with boys tales and smoking with love,
she used to raise her eyebrows, sit him down,
scold him and then nestle into the warmth
of his arms. A simp le thing, this partnership,
this life , ord inary a mongst the vast scale,
a parlour ga me, a soap sud procession,
but never a crossed word, never anger.
He sinks to his knees, waterlogged,
his right hand gripping the flesh above
his failing heart.
That morn ing, in the washroom light
of another early Septe mber day,
he found her on the kitchen floor and
cradled her until harsh blue lights spun.
This evening, as she lay in the wired,
respirator tube aftermath of cardiac a rrest,
they came with dark eyes and nervous hands,
anxious to comfort but unsure how to touch,
to say that she wouldn?t see the dawn again.