poems, first, Gluck, olds, me

poems, first, Gluck, olds, me

words, spoken, silences heard

‘I love you, I need you, I want you’

as she was leaving for a day away, Barbara wrote this on a big sheet of paper in script for me. She said she loved another and me, but knew she loved me. confused, she was. I told her never to say she loved me again earlier. Now, she writes it. that November we separated for good, good.

‘I don’t love you enough to fo that’

I realise now her physical longings were not, never for me. Older, her early thirties, she desire opened as rain waters. we both misread the rains. her body ached for, to love, a child. only a child

‘ I will never hurt you as Barbara did’

but you did. and didn’t. did not. worst.

‘I will always be there for you’

I am learning, have found, global language, insidious, useless, a mourn and wordless trumpet song, the ‘always;’ the ‘nevers’ are the stories the unfaithful speak out loud faithfully, or in a silence to,- only


‘this is a new beginning for us. Now it is just me and charlie.’

I weep, self-silence cries, tears, grief fo you my Priscilla. You are so hurt by, what you love, loved.

beloved, your heart’s desire, your radix, your loves are no longer. deserted, uncalled, unthought of, surrounded by the brown and dethroned, you say words for a life of vita nova

I cry for your sadness. I knew and know.