A Poem For You

This is a poem for you.
You can accept it if you wish,
Or let it rise away in a fervent
Wind, forgotten and inconsequential.
But it is yours no matter what.

I walk in the Chinese garden
At midnight, the serious moon lacquered,
Thinking of you in Abbey Wood forgetting.
Perhaps I am not the only one.

I know nothing for sure, only
The iridescent light of your eyes
Chronicled in St. Augustine,
Your face mirroring Munch's The Cry
As I look on, as I look away,
As I tremble for you.

Whatever has happened?
Where are the promises we made?
I could not say: you could not say.
And at the moment only one thing's certain:

History is on everyone's side... or no one's
Which is the same thing.

John Cornwall

If you've any comments on this poem, John Cornwall would be pleased to hear from you.

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