(This is the beginning of a very long poem to Kathy, the longest I wrote to her. I put it on another writing platform – which subsequently closed down – and I print the beginning here because it is near and dear to my heart.)
Because the latest messenger has gone,
my pale collections and delivered notes
are scattered everywhere – in trays,
in Cambridge cups and silver-rooms.
(Sticklebacks nest in my larger spoons.)
I am myself a fisher of sorts
and I fish green pike in redundant moats;
occasionally, I am owl of tombs,
a donkey’s back or half a goat’s,
and I call each flower Katharine
by desperate day and night.
I am waking germ in a field of blight
and a heart of heaping sin,
and my mind is mad and has mushroomed in,
and I call each flower Katharine.
And I call each flower Katharine
where the blossoms flame and stray.
My darling, my dearest Katharine,
I have placed my love in clay,
and a dark and desperate flower grows
and gobbles the joy therein –
it is now by night that the brightest day
is shinnying summer-thin;
(from “”Love” Poems For Kathy / Green. Laced. Leaves”)