you walk along
the silent strand
shadowed
on the horizon
we carried burdens
for months and miles
only to collapse
when we dropped them
in the sand
and watched the tide
bury our sorrows at sea
you walk along
the silent strand
shadowed
by quiet and calm
The furies are at home
in the mirror; it is their address.
Even the clearest water,
if deep enough can drown.
Never think to surprise them.
Your face approaching ever
so friendly is the white flag
they ignore. There is no truce
with the furies. A mirror’s temperature
is always at zero. It is ice
in the veins. Its camera
is an X-ray. It is a chalice
held out to you in
silent communion, where graspingly
you partake of a shifting
identity never your own.
– from No Truce with the Furies by RS Thomas
I haven’t written much lately, or more accurately, I haven’t revised anything that I like enough to post here. Instead, I offer this poem by RS Thomas.
is there a trail back
to repair what i lost?
if irreparable, is there
a way to feel emotions
i buried neatly under
the illusion of calm,
so many years after
the storm fell silent?
the time spent
between planets
equals the space
between stanzas
worlds defined
by unseen action
engulfed within
soundless calm
Awaiting the Images 