The other day I went fell-walking with friends. The background air was warm but a desperately cold wind whistled over the hills. Contrasting layers of warmth and chill accompanied us throughout the walk. Today, I wanted to write a poem about love. I was feeling melancholic but joyful too. These two emotions have been following me everywhere. I saw my neighbour bringing in her bin and then wrote this poem.
arriving home from work arriving home from work I bring the bin in with the wind chasing behind i open the door with a key that may one hundred years from now lay in topsoil tangled in nettle-root the hall is full of ghosts eating our days away and an umbrella stand the kitchen greets me with an empty sigh and a list of jobs to do before night drags in another day my plate begs me to eat but my throat is closed as the window paints itself black i watch the corner of my eye to see you again happiness is something i became attached to nothing more when you left i found God he had been standing behind you all along i’ve always liked the bedroom it belongs to your dreams