John Montague
The Golden Hook
Two fish float: One slowly downstream Into the warm Currents of the known The other tugging Against the stream, Disconsolate twin, The golden Marriage hook Tearing its throat.
No Music
I’ll tell you a sore truth, little understood It’s harder to leave, than to be left: To stay, to leave, both sting wrong. You will always have me to blame, Can dream we might
Uprooting
My love, while we talked They removed the roof. Then They started on the walls, Panes of glass uprooting From timber, like teeth. But you spoke calmly on, Your example of courtesy Compelling me
Blessing
A feel of warmth in this place. In winter air, a scent of harvest. No form of prayer is needed, When by sudden grace attended. Naturally, we fall from grace. Mere humans, we forget
There are Days
There are days when One should be able To pluck off one’s head Like a dented or worn Helmet, straight from The nape and collarbone (those crackling branches!) And place it firmly down In