Room, (after floating clouds by Hsü Kan).
‘Floating clouds’
in the window of the room,
‘How vast, how vast’.
The panes of old glass,
have moved and distorted themselves.
What have they seen through the age of O’Donnell?
Transforming to distorting mirrors as if by magic each
sundown.
Like Little Nutbrown who pulls a ball gown from a Sweet
chestnut shell and changes
from Goose-girl to Queen.
‘Would that I could send you a message through them’.
How would I do it?
A paper aeroplane?
A text message?
Does your white angel robe have pockets?
Perhaps I could take a seat in a cloud like a number 28 bus and
wait for my stop in the sky
to personally give you my message.
And what would it say?
‘Thank you’
written in blood?
‘You are welcome’
sewn with beard hair into your hankie?
Bin it!
Throw out all useless messages.
How can I even begin to express all the pent-up things I
imagined saying to you
but did not.
By the time I could speak to you as an equal you were not
the same.
You had changed into another person.
I wanted to go back and speak to the 50 year old you.
Inarticulate child – I.
Now – now I can speak…
But the time has passed
‘Since you sir have gone away’
We are dying to each moment.
-
Unrepeatable.
Irreversible.
So I must – make all the words
count.
Say some words,
give space for a reply,
give generously, welcome
interaction,
forgive.
Find peace.
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