And if you asked me
If I knew
That precisely by this not seeing you
I would receive my due
And that such a due – thus weirdly gifted –
Would in curious time make me curious happy,
Then I would’ve called you mad
And sad as bad,
And felt quite kicking against your tad,
And truly had,
And never had,
And never fucked nor pleasured wild.
And if you’d asked me – as in fact you did –
Forever, and that way,
And never return at all, at all,
And never darken those doorsteps and that wine
So red, and
Of beautiful embrace, and thine, and thine,
And never harken back to gorgeous kindnesses, in place –
To thus and to this,
To thrust out of
And finally never to see your face
Nor eyes lit up – like candlegrace! –
That time upon time,
Why then, and all that exactly right now
Would be left for me to say, and say,
Is to proclaim so extraordinary:
I am happy in Belfast,
Alone and by myself
And so, at last, I guess it’s true: I loved you total fine.
Without that deadly rancour awful
Nor crude pale anger of previous day.
Neither measuring mind
Nor requiring bind.
Neither registering that weight
Of the dearest
… dearest mine!