ZONAL
All
I had rhymed of that monstrous thing
Returned and yet unrequited love.
- W. B. Yeats, “Presences” (1919)
Returned and yet unrequited love.
- W. B. Yeats, “Presences” (1919)
Calling
it unrequited love is too dramatic a counter-
point for that which only exists on some superlunary
anti-world spun off when the timeline frayed. We met,
point for that which only exists on some superlunary
anti-world spun off when the timeline frayed. We met,
you:
grumpy, foreign and utterly enchanting,
me: frumpy, maudlin and latterly interesting.
Still, something miraculous sparked from it and if
you believe in guardian angels they must have stared
me: frumpy, maudlin and latterly interesting.
Still, something miraculous sparked from it and if
you believe in guardian angels they must have stared
askance
as their opalescent pilot feathers brushed
as
they passed in opposite directions, a little piece
of
soul jumped between our sympathetic valences.
Love,
yes, I will defend it, like a troubadour, self-
sacrificing
devotion made me friendship’s paragon,
devoted
counsellor and clown, which you, flattered,
graciously
accepted, not wanting to hurt me,
always platonic, but the burning forests of desire
all mine, imperfectly concealed, you kindly feigning
not to notice, and O the devastated anguish of
your going, your the balm of loyalty in staying in touch,
until eventually the fires gutter out, and from the ash
the friendship, tempered and glowing, remains.
I don’t miss the rest; content that inspiration
always platonic, but the burning forests of desire
all mine, imperfectly concealed, you kindly feigning
not to notice, and O the devastated anguish of
your going, your the balm of loyalty in staying in touch,
until eventually the fires gutter out, and from the ash
the friendship, tempered and glowing, remains.
I don’t miss the rest; content that inspiration
remains
cyclically born from its tacit nescio,
and wonder surges like magma, hidden
and wonder surges like magma, hidden
ever
beneath the thin ground our feet.
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