Between the clang and clang a flower,
A brazen calyx of no noise:
I’m picking though paired bookshelves
titles skimmed, the odd glance further in
surprised to find a few crimped petals there
rose pink still with colour, the crushed calyx
fired off its miniature charges as they dried
– there’s no recall for this act of preservation
nor had I had thought such romance
ever crossed my heart
I’m picturing the person you once were, half husband
half Arthurian knight, a time-worn troubadour making music
such primal passion and I not far behind, chasing harmonies
songs that you crooned in tenor, sweet words spoken
some addressed to flyleaf – one that marks the gift of poetry
a tight, thin book of love lines, and the one of your own making
written that October when we began and time was on our side
I’m rifling through a keg of keepsakes
in the small treasure chest, gems
precious as memories and tokens for the everyday
bought full of thought, and now I remember
all the perishables that came home with you – tasty titbits
a leaf that spelled loveliness or needed a name
more often of late a pick of sweet pink buttonholes
sampled from a little rambler, somewhat wormholed and forlorn
potted to adorn a Bloomsbury mansion house front door
Title and opening lines from Louis MacNeice’s love poem: “Meeting Point” – and with another of my poems dedicated to Martin, am joining with others in the Poetry Pantry
PoetryPix 