Those were the distances,
the attachment of your soul to mine,
where we slept in the windy valley
with that imbecile comedian
who would play the flute
and try to emulate your profound nature.
The day you opened the door and I walked in,
stared at your multi-coloured paintings,
grateful to eat your wonderous gifts,
I needed you like a bandage. I needed
my cigarettes, the nights outside in alleyways
fantasying formidable adventures
to express our courage.
Thank you for your arms
that veiled me from the eclipse
and the strangers you brought to my side
with God brewing strong in their stomachs
I never did get my housecoat
or the dance in the traffic I so wanted.
They tell me you are going far,
to great planets that have no names.
On my bare belly,
our hands once joined.
You are on stage, singing,
drenched in a beautiful darkness.
You were my companion, lover
in the January frost.
Copyright © 1991 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “Ygdrasil – A Journal of the Poetic Arts” July 2018
Published in “The Academy of the Heart and Mind” May 2018
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