Isolation

There are horrible things

that are beauty

we brood over them

in the dark.

I go to my tower

and you weep at your tree

I am blue –

just outside me, the rain.

I’ve made us this plank

as a bridge

I curl over;

ideology

pray to my mind

you weep

at the tree

near the water

your scars

are reflected

and wave

you huddle and rock

and grow sleepy

the weight of a storm

like a fog

it is clouded.

I sit on a stele

one sheer line

of unworth,

disappointment

but that is beneath me

light boxes me in.

you are folded on land

in the sky

near the water

grounded

and adding

your pain.

a tree grows

and is fed

like the lake

by your tears

light is around you

in pools.

you’re defined

i’m unclear.

I hold something

unknown

impossible object

a commitment to blue

and it shapes me.

you stretch your neck out –

you yearn –

you look up and about

I turn in

to the mass

of the well

I get lost there

my thoughts draining way

confounding

black blood

rushes down

the between.

our rooms

are inseparable.

N Filbert 2012