Last words & epigraphs
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AN ABSTRACT PERFECTION
Paul HouseWhere do you go to and not be afraid
When suddenly you wake into your life
And everything has run sadly away?
Stroll out and breathe in the cold
Fresh air. And look down at the feet
Striding so definitely along past houses
That lean back from the road and hide.
And the heart beats slowly and clutches
At something. All of those months away.
A last piece of love. Some tiny regret.
Forget the bad things that bring you sadness
Now. Like the orange reflected from the lamp.
Beneath which you wait. Dark puddles everywhere.
Like some reason for being together. Still.
But all your foundered loves remain.
Huddled in corners that you walk past.
Slowly. Hoping for some small voice,
Glad to see you. Calling please don't go.
It's so quiet it seems that all England sleeps.
But you know that somewhere all of the puzzled
Lovers of the town are trembling
And reaching far across the damp night.
Touching imaginary hearts that settle
Into some piece of improbable brightness.
Cozy and warm. And wanting to love.
To be noticed. Tomorrow. As they fall into place.
And try to find an excuse for touching.
For breathing together. And you, too, will look.
Before the nights get too long and you can't
Wake up laughing when you rediscover
There really is nothing. You too will look
For that abstract perfection. Some reassurance.
That love survives. If it exists at all.