Breakfast in bed

 

In the morning when you bring me

        strawberries

 

it is the way you concentrate so carefully

to select each unspoiled bursting berry

        the ripest, reddest;

 

it is the way you watch

as you raise these gifts to my mouth

and place them between my lips;

 

it is the way your eyes see me clearly

as I suck and savour these fragrant fruits.

 

      I turn my eyes away

 

   red fruit in glass bowl on pure white sheet

 

then, it is the way you lick juice from your own lips

that wakes new light as our eyes meet.

 

 

Sex and death

 

Heart on fire

breath gasping

eyes wild

you shout –

some sound without words –

arms and legs flail.

 

Spasm takes your body

– all of your body –

and all of your mind.

 

The only sound

      blood rushing in your head

until   finally

you come

      to the point

 

where nothing else exists

 

      and

                you

                          let go

 

                                         into darkness.

 

 

Postcard to my father

 

I have wanted to go back to that place for so long,

to breathe the same air, to be where you were

when that final event happened, by the loch those

many years ago. Could you see the view as you

left us? Was the surface water rippled in the

breeze, or was it blue, flat and clear? Could you

see the pebbles underneath, smooth and round?

How green were the trees in that midsummer

midday? Did you smell the warm grass, taste the

minerals of earth, hear all the finches singing in

the birches? Did the golden eagle soar above the

white clouds? Did it fly away towards the distant

Cairngorm? Did you think of me? Did you wish I

was there?