What’s more final than divorce?
being forever without you,
no hope of reconciliation,
closing me into the alone of myself,
into the evening of everything,
kings no longer robed in flamingo silks,
the long voyage of dusk into more dusk,
darkness and its very small secrets,
fixing me forever on the outskirts of tears.
Once I had the lion’s share of you,
I’m like a village fiddler,
my tune a ragged green curtain
on which deer leap through foliage,
and where you are the darkest tree
in a forest not of this world.
From Magma No 36 (Winter 2006)