There is a stone house
with a soft bed
on a metal frame.
The sheets are sky-stolen blue,
the blanket tartan.
I have the feeling I was
a child there, or died
or held someone with love
or was held.
The air is fragrant
like a meal just finished
or being prepared.
I feel sure that you are there
in the next room
or arriving or remembered.
I wrote this poem
yesterday or some other day
or will write it soon.
Now the door is open.
Come in.
_______
Music: Cat Stevens Into White
I love it. So much.
ReplyDeleteRich with saudade, inexplicably sad and welcoming. Lovely, Shay.
ReplyDeleteThat is phenomenal. "Sky-stolen blue" is close to best all time. The progression to "or I will write it soon" decomposes us, time, presence, what is, was. The uncertainty of our certainty. Amazing.
ReplyDeleteSo beautiful, Shay. Again there is a wistfulness, but also a profound suspension in time and space that is more like a dream than any dream ever was. You word choices are honed and perfect, and the effect is stunning in its almost childlike innocence of artifice. I may have had a tear or two at this passage : "..I have the feeling I was/a child there, or died/or held someone with love.." Just lovely, loving writing.
ReplyDeleteor was held.
I love the stream of thought here that seems to capture time in a way as if it has no time in of itself. This is another one of your brilliant poems my friend. I just don't know how you do it, but am so glad you do!
ReplyDelete