Point counterpoint. Here’s a companion piece to last week’s anonymous
lyric, another meditation on kissing and time, this one by famed Brit
. I can’t figger out when this poem was written, but it was
written by a guy who was born in 1930. Last week’s poem was written in
2007. So which camp are you in now? What about the title? And how
’bout the imagery of that last stanza?
And why am I sitting late reading a property textbook? F this, I hear
there’s a hell of a universe next door; let’s go. -ed.
We sit late, watching the dark slowly unfold:
No clock counts this.
When kisses are repeated and the arms hold
There is no telling where time is.
It is midsummer: the leaves hang big and still:
Behind the eye a star,
Under the silk of the wrist a sea, til
Time is nowhere.
We stand; leaves have not timed the summer.
No clock now needs
Tell we have only what we remember:
Minutes uproaring with our heads
Like an unfortunate King’s and his Queen’s
When the senseless mob rules;
And quietly the trees casting their crowns
Into the pools.