Gadolinium

I found a subtle place
Before your grave,
Indelible solitude,
Quintessential quiet,
Ego-traced and
Silenced,
Where Time and her sublime
And graceful sister Space
Were finally disproved,
A vision overcame
My diurnal self,
My empty-bottled body,
A vision of dark matter
Now made illuminated
Capillaries with
Cores of fire,
A galaxy’s whole aorta
Belched and splattered
Purples, yellow-golds,
A gadolinium ink,
A causeway,
A moment only
Enduring centuries.

Within this vision
I could see how roads
Rejoin that which science
Deceived
With industry
To disconnect our planets;
A wounded view,
Instead those old contusions
Are now piers where
Truth blooms perpetually.
I could see the infinite ways,
Like roots from Yggdrasil
Alighting shoots to
Embassies on Jupiter,
Grand statues with
Sandy orange knees
Standing high above me,
And on to gloomy Saturn.

You will walk that distance
When my mind is composting,
It’s only a million miles a day;
Find Jovian moons in a year,
Then light the higher way,
Return what once was far
From life, and icy cold,
To what is now revived,
Nearby, dear selflessness,
And finally in reach.

Bluebird Ballad

Through this time of catastrophes
And near misses,
The Tower Of Winds and Hypotheses
Would measure your kisses
As Cyrillic keys pressed
Like notes from a typist,
Pinned to a wall
In a traveller’s room
From Budapest to Athens.
We absorb each other
In dissimilar ways,
The weather-vane spins
With bluebirds in rain;
Possessive apostrophes misused,
A crack in the bath,
A lack of sleep and
An aftermath in blue;
Every village has its limits.

Strange to consider then
How we are the same
As when many months of the Moon retraced
Lands me lost in a Saturday
When I bought your book,
Your anthology, that’s still
I confess, not fully read
Nor, I confess again, much understood,
But the passion and the act
Of guerillas uprising through verse
Had me infatuated.
Same eyes, yes, same hair,
Same faultlines from a post-war flare,
Standing on the self-same spot
More or less in Cambridgeshire
As if the bookseller’s plot
And my unmade bed
Are layers in blue
Of the High Poetess, on her
Alter cloth and within her dress.

If a curse made the earth
The size of a grain,
The universe inversely would shrink again
To the size of the inhabited planet,
Before from the massive mass it sinks.
If I carry my chances in marginal atoms
Why does my heart still roam untamed?
Reunite us on the beach
Held together with words and speech,
Type a letter of love to reach
Beyond the sands of time and graves.