Spherical Aberration, One

By | 1 November 2019

Will we, again, call
the disappeared space between
two flesh communion,

how synonymous
the cormorant, plunged, hungry,
is with the ocean,

how confused
the vision in the mirror
with the unremitting glass

or is distance forgotten
as measure, the heft
of a fallen trunk

that offers these few
to heaven, the selfish
body, turned aside?

Call it forgetting –
a colour in itself,
pastel, pitted, less shine –

or resistance. Refuse
to lose anything,
calls, comebacks, promises.

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