To Define The Questant – There Can Be No End İN Sight Poem by Katrina Willoughby

I

our romance jangles at the edges
separate we sit together
offhand notes toss in loops of silent
music to pull each other in

for us, from us Boulez draws jewelled
jarred lifetimes in jade clear stretched chords
mice feet and cobwebs scratch on bowstrings
move lightly from my mind to yours

this note falls in a prescribed silence
pulled by a finger from the cheek
the universe grows in an extend-
ed note we are held discordant


II

he creates a quarter acre garden
wood wild postpones his forest
in the clouds behind his eyes are his lost
trees his far changing river

stone branched gothic churches were built by men
who knew Godde in a forest
read their faces, high in branched cathedrals
are netted angels, gargoyles

offspring of evicted angels we fit
our sleep with fears of flying
we are all of us Godde’s anguished angels
hunting out our misplaced wings



III

I am not Heith nor winterwise bringer
of luck to hold in your hand
in the place where you should be my daughter sleeps
she smiles – I steal her dream

your are where friends stumble in the unused dreams
of their last dead daughter
my doors are all unlocked that life unhindered
can come easy
can go