Other

You say so little of this
matters now, but I
want to tell you anyway.
 
I think finding the words
might help me remember.
The lake, I wish I could name
 
its trees, how they spiral
away from their doubles.
Or explain how its swans
 
haul their questions
into the air. Flowers blaze
at the edge of the path.
 
I pick my steps warily
over stone and mud,
while my shadow
 
runs on into the future.
Above the twisting river
another bird lifts
 
in panic away from me.
This is the place
where we’re supposed
 
to meet. I wait quietly
for you at the gate,
where the weir
 
starts to foam
at the mouth,
and the willow sags
 
as if to drown
itself. It’s the end
of the afternoon
 
and you’re striding
towards me. But I’m not
the me you expected.
 

Mike Loveday

in collection, He Said / She Said, July 2011, HappenStance Press;
first published in Other Poetry, 2010