Friday, May 24, 2013

The on-site BBC reporter said:

'The prospect of an early end
to the war has receded.'

Breakthroughs are such difficult things,
made of the same stuff that kills them -
words.

As she and I spoke that evening,
birds in Montebello receded,
that must have been a sign, or not.
If yes, of what?

I hope someone had held the book
of how-to-do-it in front of me
and asked me to read it.

'There are always two ways,' Phil had said,
of saying the right thing.'
Should I have stuck to the letter?
Could I have said it better, or another day?
Is the right thing always the thing you want to say?

But as she spoke,
the world receded into the shell,
not quietly, but like flood-waters do.

Friendship, unlike love,
needs no preambles. It is a straighter thing.

Yet now, why does my heart
tremble. I had once read that a gargoyle,
also a water-spout, 'is an ornamental innovation
telling us that all is not well even in the house of God.'

That evening, we got each others' blood to boil
(at all times we could have receded)

but friendship, like love,
is also flawed, must need toil.

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