30 Days of Autumn: 7

The Wreck

 
But what lovers we were, what lovers,

even when it was all over –

 
the deadweight, bull-black wines we swung

towards each other rang and rang

 
like bells of blood, our own great hearts.

We slung the drunk boat out of port

 
and watched our unreal sober life

unmoor, a contintent of grief;

 
the candlelight strange on our faces

like the tiny silent blazes

 
and coruscations of its wars.

We blew them out and took the stairs

 
into the night for the night’s work,

stripped off in the timbered dark,

 
gently hooked each other on

like aqualungs, and thundered down

 
to mine our lovely secret wreck.

We surfaced later, breathless, back

 
to back, then made our way alone

up the mined beach of the dawn.

 
Don Paterson

 

 

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About Kendal

I'm Kendal Mosley-Chalk. I live in York with my husband and two children.
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