The Dry Season

The Dry Season

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When words can do no more .


When words can do no more

but stutter, stumble and recall

the depth and breadth of past declensions;

when feelings fumble from the deep

like trees bereft in winter gale

that fall but leave intact deep twisted roots

which suddenly each spring renew

fragile pale green shoot on withered branch,

and all I love in you is transcribed in the beauty

of our children’s laughing faces.

It seems somehow we’ve tried it all

somersaulted ,Catherine wheeled

blazed the darkened nights with fireball frenzy,

so many years of fighting truth:

each time that you drew near I shied like startled deer

bit you with a tigers wrath

then watched you bleed your mortal wounds

couldn’t somehow croon the sounds

to heal our broken language .

This is just another rhyme,

you’ll say it lies the way all the others do

but I always, always, knew that shining secret heart

you keep hidden out of touch where it’s padlocked to my soul;

here words can do no more than recall ghostly lives

when you were mine  and for some reason I don’t know

I battered down that twice locked door to reach the other side

so I could tell you one more time ,

that despite myself and between the lines

maybe because you make me cry,

I’ll always, always, love you .

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