My dear; my dear, wake up to me
Here we are, your hand in mine
Look – we have come this far!
Still, the sunlight stretches on
The horizon; so bright it blinds
Where are the flies?
The gulls no longer peck or cry
But I can hear the fins
And I would like to say
Just this. My dear, I often pray
That we had met in drier times
And tasted in the shade
And loved on rocks and sand and grass
And with our hands, a galley made
For I would like to think
That if we sailed, we would not sink;
For anchored in the days we shared
I dared not sleep, nor scarcely blink
So precious was that little time
When I was yours, and you were mine.
Perhaps it is a shallow wish
And yet, the hope is deep enough
To drown within; for I suppose
Had I been born a fish
Then it would not have come to this.
Our feasting would have nigh surpassed
Those nights of bacchian delight –
Oh, wine in river, cream in well
That does not curdle in the night!
Steaks and breads and sausages
That baste in honey, pepper, thyme –
Pudding, stuffing, dressing, cake
Drizzled in molass.
Oh scrambled heart! Oh boiled brain!
The muscles ache in memory
Of what may yet have been; alas
Upon the breath of history
Had I not let go of your hand
Today, together would we stand?
Ah – but I did not.
Here it is. Our fingers crossed
Within each other; here I am
My dear. But where are you?