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.