Friday is still for poetry

Funeral Cortege

Grey water stilled by the turning tide,
All things bated between the inbreath and the out
But us, and a dozen paper boats

Strung along the water where the river
Lifts itself over the grey sand, wet stones.
Against this colourless, this shining, lay

The bright flat sails. One pin-sharp hour
They flowered on the Thames; then slid under
The grey drift and the relentless years.

You on the shore, what were you thinking?
A grown man and a groaning woman
Handing these colours to the darkening river,

Each neat shard of sunset, sunrise,
Midsummer sky, spring leaf, sweet orange,
A piece, and another, and another, of our lives

Taken back, little boats, as we turned homewards,
The which of us unmoored,
The which of us dissolving?

This entry was posted in NaBloPoMo 2010, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Friday is still for poetry

  1. Solnushka says:

    *blows nose*


  2. Ann Baylis says:

    Absolutely Love.

    Jess, this is just so, so, so good.

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