A land, unknown

Nothing is changed
but the world is ended.
Green radiance of a streetlamp in the trees
Shines quietly upon here and now
For time is ended.
The quest is ended.

The single star among the myriad stars
Stands steadfast at the end of night
Over love's earthly house.
Distance is ended.

The single grain of infinitesimal dust,
The mote in the lamplight enters the field of vision,
Is seen, is recognized, is known
As the unique one.

K.Raine (mangled, somewhat).

'K' and 'R' are not so far apart; one is more crooked, the other more gentle. There is the terseness of medieval rigour, a Latin uprightness or reserve to 'K'; R, on the other hand, with the slightest modification becomes a southern letter, utterly open, known, the Sanskrit of the heart.

With time we become a land unknown to ourselves. Our faces and hands darken inexplicably. And time will have taken us upstairs, to the unused room, where lie broken and discarded things, scrapbooks of your childhood, documenting not progress but a lazy Sunday morning spent pasting emblems of silver and gold, heraldic badges, in a wide grey book.

With such soft brown eyes a woman looks my way, her life full of failures and half chances, her breast full of sorrows, a word unspoken on her lips. The clothes on the washing line are frozen at their points; a crow-the fastest I've ever seen- crosses my path, cutting through the cold like a pair of mindless scissors. I remember a day from years ago, chequed flares, a floppy head of hair and a sunken heart, when I was the mayor for an hour, the gold chain placed around my neck so heavy that only a horse could have borne it. The heavy weight of clunking gold on our shoulders, like a chain of names from the past. The gold thread on S's sleeve, thin, delicate, patterned; it catches the light, draws it to itself, is like time freed from itself for an hour.

'Intent on one great love, perfect
Requited and for ever
I missed love's everywhere
Small presence, thousand-guised.'