Like a broken-limbed doll
you lie before me,
and I wonder what your eyes,
all unseeing,
see.
I know I should not,
dare not
touch you,
that even a hand
held out in comfort
might rouse
something that
still you struggle
to contain.
Yet
I cannot let you go,
not like this,
not so alone,
not with the fear
which is not fear
dulling your eyes,
pinning you to the ground
at my feet.
What can I say
to you
now,
what hope can I
give you
which does not
become a lie
upon my broken lips?
Like the water,
my own hope
has run out.
Like the bread,
it has broken
upon the stones
and winds
and endless passes
of these forgotten
mountains.
My old Gaffer
would have words
for me,
words for us,
if he were by.
He always set a great store
by you, my Gaffer did.
I don't suppose you
remember him,
either.
All the fair things,
the small things....
all the great
and simple folk
you came to this night-drowned
place to save
and you remember
none of them.
Only the evil
remains,
taking the last
of you,
broken
bit
by
bit,
giving over,
at last,
to Darkness.
I could bear it
now,
I think:
I could bear it
if you
were only dying.
But
the body which lies
so light within the circle
of my arms
will not be granted
this peace,
this doubtful gift.
You
will not find rest
beneath the kind curve
of the earth.
Nor even sleep endlessly upon its face.
You
are going to Him.
It does not matter that
the ragged pulse
that drives your heart
beats dully against my throat,
there,
where your head rests against mine.
It does not matter that words
fall,
like shallow breaths,
hesitant
from your lips.
It does not matter.
It is all only a lie.
I know all too well now
what
binds you
and
where
you are bound.
Do you know,
I saw a fox once,
running in the wood
beyond the Hill....
all russet-red and swift
he was
and glad he looked,
as if he knew his place
beneath the softened stars.
As quick as thought,
he fell at my feet,
caught, in his flight,
by a hunter's feathered friend.
I could not move
as the light left his eyes
and they turned from clever
to cold in the space of a heart-beat.
His limbs
trembled
with the shock of it all,
life pulling sharp and fierce
against the call of death.
I felt a fool,
yet
I touched my hand
to the ruff of his neck
and spoke to him
gently
as his life ran out.
I do not feel a fool,
now.
Only sad in a measure
beyond words.
And I hold to you,
as the ribbon of your
life plays out in jagged
breath....
I tell myself
(and you,
though perhaps you hear me not)
there is a whole World
outside this shallow moment...
a world where folk still
sow a glad earth
and sing beneath a harvest sky,
Beneath this sky,
within this day
which has no sun,
I would hold you
against the night,
I would carry you
and hope to find
my fondest wish:
that you shall lie,
not broken,
but at rest
before
He
finds
you.
