How Have I Frighted Thee
Water is coming from her eye, I saw it fall,
but no sleep last night, no sleep at all,
there’s sawdust throat, but where floods it from?
How can it be that every swallow stabs
like a dagger's blade clutched and grabbed?
Have half a side of face, stuffed, like hard fillings
back a weary mouth. For a while, Sorcha, willing
and sultry in unbuttoned blouse, leans forwards,
rams us both towards some sun-setting corners,
an expert handler, falling free. Then, it’s me,
my arm embracing John - who’s grinning
ear to ear while trading licks, guitars swinging,
teasing a fully restored Paul with talk of singing.
These ears, both sides blocked, are still shocked
at any unsolicited sinister the flowing air makes,
shadowed sounds of night, ground that shakes,
oh, I need to sleep, for heaven’s sake.
Yet, water came from her eye, I saw it fall
and in hot darkness unfurls like moist ferns
come hard to fiddleheads and slyly it will glance,
it’s many years since it was wont to dance
or tread a measure. How long has it been?
But four days, she took to skies like Angels fly,
and I will myself deny there’s anything wrong in this
coarse kiss, missed company from one so small,
but now she’s gone, how time does crawl.
Old moons that stretch themselves like springs
untightly coiled, hot in sweaty night-times bring
memories of guilty pleasures. And it’s soft to see,
that it may possibly be, how have I frighted thee.
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