It could be anything
it could be the weather
a tiger back in Yunnan
missing the regular
meals in the zoo
up there in the days when
we are all let go, set loose,
lost into the prowl of
it could even be now.

2.
But burdens slip off too
thud by your ankles so
lighter you limp on.
We all in one way or another
seem to be teenagers
coming back from the pool,
wet bathing suits inside our clothes.

 3.
That’s how we know.
Conscience molds us,
the process called time
shapes us old.
Acute awareness
of random realities,
the longer the leaner.

4.
I wish I could remember
all the places I hurried from,
all the books I read midway,
all the breakfasts I skipped,
all the music I turned off before the end.
Last night a Bach partita—
but which one?
Through the silence
I prayed my way to sleep.

 5.
The tiger is still in his cage,
maybe alas. The meadows
of Somerset lie low in late sun.
I keep getting born around here
but here keeps changing.
Brighton Beach. Alston
in the Pennines, highest town
in England, sorrow, sorrow,
the lead mines all closed down.
So there is still silver in the ground–
that’s what they mean when they say
being born is a consolation prize.

6.
Noises spoke us
alert in the dark.
Language everywhere,
no breath without its word.
No air without its breath.
We tried to understand what it meant
but it did not speak again.
What could the night possibly want
after all that we have given it?

7.
Little tufts of freedom
here and there,
enough to feed your rabbit
of a soul, your dribbling river
of a single tear. Try, try
to make me say something
you can understand
under or over all this mumble
of my guesswork.
It’s up to you to make me speak.

8.
Eden? Yes,
but there was no love there,
no passion, no embrace.
It was a glade of soft obedience—
and sometimes we pray to God
we still could be there,
make do with flowers and the changing light.

                                  15 August 2020