IZON …

(here in the boxcar)

. . . ” .

He only saw white, wishing more they had taken time

Bartholow’s Stand, the small brow of a hill, remote but lonely

Crashing waves always remind us of eternity, or death

. > . . .

Death is never lonely, only coldness, only the west side of Aga Hill

Or that feeling when you see ribbons streaming from mornings’ mountain

I could have hid my eyes, wrestling with loves pang and regret

. . ; . .

and that, never might be, question,

but you carry a torch to see where your going, not where you’ve been

looking back never requires vision only white-walled tyres and hooch

. < . . .

I whispered my inhibitions so many the times

If I thought it would release me, the priests window?

If I carried enough tallow, or chickens eggs for a supper?

 . / . . .

The evening train, packed as usual makes hardly a sound

drifting through, drifting and I catch sight of daisies in the sun

me and stencilled cases rough, knotted, full of brown bottles

here in the boxcar

. .   . . [

0′ Marianne I never told you and it hurts

were always passing through spaces like warm blood in veins

or like clouds swept by rain and memory they are so cold with ice

] . .   . .

You haunt me so I don’t want ever to sleep

Lest’ I miss you when your spirit passes in the hall

or we meet out in the street in that dream where I’m falling

. . . = .

I still carry a blunted pencil, a torn, printed flyer with notes

they are the ones where I wrote I love you and then rubbed it out

that message bites the more against a hollow chest

. . .  ` .

So many things hidden and then a small grey bird

a phone ringing, a dream full of stagnant water closing

and Marianne, honest, happy and standing

here in the boxcar

. . . . :

writtenbyedenbray24.03.2013