Sunday, December 22, 2013

David Howard

Cavafy's Neighbour 
When the moon was full he could see it in the pond.
Still, if he pulled the shutters there would be no colour, just
the memory that is language, bad language.
He could have married the younger sister with the swan’s neck.
Once a dress the colour of sunset. After dark she would let him
take it off. Even the god who approved could not watch.
‘If you want love to stay shut up the house, covering
the furniture with dirty sheets’ she said.
He didn’t care. Only later, the later that takes him into old age. 


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