What I’m Losing

What have I gained
from my penchant for song?
From this window over Kelburn
I watch the impatient wind
shove unwelcome clouds

out the harbour’s door,
out to the shivering south.

And what is meant to remain behind
in this shorn place,
or on a page?
The things I write down no longer want
anything to do with me,

the years already pushing me
out beyond my words.
I couldn’t hold onto
a single one,
my poetry could not keep her.

And although I tried
to commit her voice to paper,
she speaks now with others,
through the others.

My love could not write
her vagrant body
onto this fleeing landscape.

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