u n i v e r s e
Your eyes are a Harbour
The leaves are almost gone from the acacia tree
For my senses
It is already silent winter
The one turns around ,
Perpetual pendulum swings cosmos orbit
Copernicus whispers to Icarus: “go on, perfume your grave with the fragrant light”
Hands intertwined create grace
Grace is a third person in the room
The barycentre of the present
Sings promises to my memory body
We are not alone.
Rachel Fenlon
P O E T R Y
s o n g
Today is the first and the only
day
I address you with your name
and renew the pain
We travel our red boat into the
Blue lake,
we feel the deep
blue.
The mountains glide soft rugged,
nature tugging
at our Not-yet battered hearts.
Our yearning is
Our hands held in symmetry, is
a window which cracks
and lets the air out
We breathe
I love you
Through the wind
the pain breaks the spine of our neck
into
a pair of eagle wings
Rachel Fenlon
y o u w a n t e d l i g h t n e s s
You wanted lightness, and I gave you a silver-trunked birch
coated in dust.
Dust, dust, not dust,
it was a silver birch.
It is your tree – you wanted lightness.
I never saw the dark side of the moon,
but I saw a beam once coat a trunk and I saw the damage it did;
It took away a father or two; not the guilty; the ones born last
(or first), but they were born and now they’re gone.
There’s a woman in black on the train, on the chair across from you; you’ve never met, but her tears greet yours and you cannot eat, not even a sandwich, you are transfixed, the tears fall prisms down her cheeks, exchange place on your seat...
somewhere there is a place where tears kiss.
you were born once and a silver birch won’t tell you so,
it will not glow,
it is your solitude -
you wanted lightness.
Rachel Fenlon
f o r y o u
We meet on the highest point,
The waterfalls, still, in the windless night,
reflect the stars. We catch our eyes....
Mermaid tails limning a mirage around a mountain lake.
I say, I cannot return you to the body
where you were born,
I do not know your mother
As I do not know my own mother,
They are both from the womb of the soul.
I say, I cannot make you whole. I cannot
lift your dreams from inside you and lay them out like an atlas of the stars.
The landscape of your earth belongs to you.
The night is silent, the only echo is a faint
cry from a lonely wolf -
Wolves must cry too.
And the universe is shattered in black.
Crumbs of ancient and crumbs of
brotherhood, crumbs of children and
bones and bread.
I love you, lonely night, still in time, still
with my love, still with my north, still with
the only language I know, still.
Rachel Fenlon