the gift

Matthew P. Anstey, Oct 2006

you inspire in me a horrible poetry

I wanted at that moment, so much,

to give you a gift, to let you know

something – something not yet spoken

but needful

‍

oh the restless thoughts

now flourishing, those dendritic

cognitions spawning effortlessly

in some space of words and hurts

and lost places

‍

who would have thought that just a gift,

a wretched, gorgeous gift? love’s slumber

lulling a lonely day whence it fled

friendship’s flight to regret

freedom’s will -o’-the-wisp, atwirled to naught

‍

oh to have not that moment of quickening

that impulse of generosity

oh, if only I could plough through the sludge

of tears remembered, of tenderness spurned

through tangled earth to you,

you who inspires in me a horrible poetry

‍