08-28-2021, 08:19 PM
That’s all
When I thought I loved you
it wasn’t you at all
but sunshine on the heath,
a swan gliding in the pond,
flagstones like ancient tragedies -
that’s all there was to it -
nothing much at all.
Also a secondhand bookshop
with Baudelaire in French.
A book I carried in my pocket through a squall
under thick trees thrashing
in the Hackney marshes.
Then washed towers, waving
branches, accident-
al symphonies
in gardens and in waterfalls.
That’s all there was to it
- nothing more to it,
that’s all.
When I thought I loved you
it wasn’t you at all
but sunshine on the heath,
a swan gliding in the pond,
flagstones like ancient tragedies -
that’s all there was to it -
nothing much at all.
Also a secondhand bookshop
with Baudelaire in French.
A book I carried in my pocket through a squall
under thick trees thrashing
in the Hackney marshes.
Then washed towers, waving
branches, accident-
al symphonies
in gardens and in waterfalls.
That’s all there was to it
- nothing more to it,
that’s all.