For Benton


We are yearning for more soft music.

We cannot rely on this rough magic.


I want a poetry or song unwritten,

Sing me the song as yet unspoken.


Tell to me the story which happened,

The life they lived: the plan they scattered,


The sweet, unplanned-for joy they raised

Like a life, of waiting for the trees


To move, to see them come so close:

Tell me this, make me love the remorse,


For it happened, that wonderful mystery.

For the world, remind these fears to me,


And once I have learned this stranger song

I’ll sleep and tell the passer-on.


A poem written for my friend Benton, a musician. As ever poems make for beautiful, personal and honest presents. The rhythm of this is crucial of course, but it also steal a whole lotta imagery from Shakespeare. A lot of the half-rhymes too. I am unapologetic. It’s palimpsest dammit. 


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