1)
once more, you return
to strip phrases out of
quiet solitude.
this time it's a book you do not want,
as you delve into the morning mist
to pull meanings out of dreamtime.
2) St George's Cathedral
sitting on worn-out steps
that's felt the leathered feet
of the 18th century dead,
you listen as i hum inane numbers.
i do not want to skip that evening
of no consequence, from memory's tryst with pain.
when you held my hand
as we crossed the love-speckled road
to prayer's end,
i thought you wanted me forever
