loveletter

The silent fold of paper

that curved into shadows,

the sly light shining

from your emerald ring.

You think that I've forgotten.

Or you've forgotten

Me.

Once, we wandered 

into shops,

felt the icy wonder

of jewels caught

in nets of silver.

I saw how you blossomed

away from the crowd;

warm petals of your hidden

in those worn aisles,

sweet cardamom cream.

On the street again

to grey cobbles

in darkness,

I whisper your name,

And realize

it's no longer true.

Still, I will 

repeat it over and over,

trying to conjure

that plush weft

of your London suit

green like the water

melding moor to sea,

green like my heart, of course,

pulled into your kitchen

where you coyly mashed

the tight pearls of jasmine tea,

the copper patina

against the deep red

oriental patterened rugs,

and later with olives

eagerly dispensing their fleshy coats

under our teeth.

I thought you were a fierce adept

of birds and vines,

so natural in your breathless flow.

Damselflies floated 

on the walls

behind the gloss

of your haloed hair.

I ranged your library,

seeking out in which volumes

you might have secreted 

childhood violets.

The scent of their decay

leading me on.

I felt a glass of sherry

in my hand,

catching some last light

of Sunday,

when we'd let that Fado

recording spin and

cover our unspoken

Always.

Do the campions still bravely wave

rosy greetings 

this late

in the season?

Hello, Hello

Farewell

as we trail

away,

tracing 

the night

air.