Generation

 

From Ultramarine

Back and forward

like a duel edged sword

the small boy travels

making sense

of his cut clean world.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..Circles climb to spirals, here we meet face to face, the room is glowing from Californian water colours, Indian tapestries, lovers drawings, the table neatly pegged with manuscripts. Your dead wife sits below the mantelpiece her self-portrait radiating the blonde crowned face of the angel she was to you. Writer , painter, two by two you stalked the confines of a world too small to bare you both, both bare in your coming together creating a new world which reverberates now with your small blonde grandson, stirring and re-stirring the embers. We always talked of many things; maybe I fell in love with you, the father and married the son, maybe there was always hope of what he might become. The thread runs deep between us to the earth’s core, you are frail, fragile, lame with time’s harsh paring down of bone upon bone, the marrow in your bones has turned against you. You’re brave and brilliant with your stories, bright as the unknown cluster in an unseen sky, we ponder the meaning of light, can only find an answer in reflection, talk about the untellable,  sealing wax on contracts non decipherable in the darkness of time.   You’ve become a warm presence in a room created by and from love and we hold carefully the things that divide us.…………………………………………………………………………………………..Small boy climbs the stairunaware of stately generationsdeviations, he will findin picture postcards of the pastsigned with his name.