who cares anyway
waking up alone though birds
and daily heaven
flush against the window
its open air

finding this in an opened book
shall not bring back the things we loved
dusty in the temple
winding ways back
way back and a silent speaking mouth
pronounce each name holy

space in the high land
and the bird that passes
passing over head
here to see clearly would I

when seeing’s code
for here they come now
for no more than passionate ants
for having once forgotten
would sleep to dream again

phrases overheard
who uses words like
splendour now
when all’s undone by memory
leaving by train for the usual catastrophes

and that it should be usual
come with hat and coat
that it should be ushered in
with whatever reluctance but
no power to say no

take your books, your blazes
your conga-congregations else
where my house and holy
mine