If I have bent so far and not snapped, it
Cannot destroy me now. This thing
will pass
As it passed before. Elation is
No birthright. This room is
the same. The grass
In post-drought green, the violet hills, this light
Of early evening are the
same. I stare
Out from my balcony, like one who's lost
The threads of
his obsessions, hardly aware
That from the darkening sky peace falls upon
My world, or on the car-park
where, below,
Two lovers ferry groceries from their car
And kiss. My
eyes jaywalk the road and go
To where you live, jog, laugh, toke, talk - and I
Am suddenly glad that I've
survived this love
And that it too survives. Now there's no hope
It's
strange that this should seem almost enough.
