Variations on a theme of Alberto Caeiro
1.
There’s something flickering up there
I used to know what. I remember that
it is forced to be there; to
go on.
2.
I fill these hands with ideas.
The broken skin draws permanent
hardened into a stain that draws
the huddling rest around it.
3.
From the pen, the thousand-footed rain
treads wary. To watch thought-sheep
is more exciting than real sheep; to
raise a crook brings calluses.
4.
Looked down between, the squeezebox arrests
and struck, shrivels. Becalmed,
I gaze supine to the tiller.
Waving our arms we described the wind.
5.
It’s faint now by the kitchen-light, and
the shadows of its neighbours stuff it away
back to fair. Slowly it succumbs.
Slowly I fade.
6.
Your nature continues for ever,
despite its weariness, despite
its desire. Without an eschatology,
there is no whole.
