Border Lands

march 1981 having this, no fantastic hate can rob you; not devils, not warriors, not demons; nor even angels, spying from their steep slopes, nothing, truly nothing can rob you – nor even this town, that has a history of theft and mutilation:the churches empty, the homes neglected the parks choaked with weeds. you do not need to stay.you do not need to pay.april 1981i’ve not wordsenough to say - i saw you walkingon the road today,nor eyes prepared to follow:folly ,prey.may i 1981eclipsing streets,a steady shore,an ordered crashof waves;through sunlight, shafts,marbled cloudsa far, far out horizon,unreachable;unbreachable.may ii 1981i amin envy of love;i am in envyof these two figures strong as the sun.i am in envy.june 1981how far do seas stretch?here, my love;beach, sand, dunes,and rocks, rising, cliffs, rising:we sit, hiddenin stumpyheat-drenched grass;a high hollow,spread with towels, a picnic, cigarettes:and two tight bodiescurled like babesobserving visions.july 1981on this shore – on every shorethe sea rolls, spreads,swobsexpandsexplainsbut we –you and i –we are fastened like limpets.we cannot leave.september i 1981the wavesof last night’s stormlinger, loiterinsistendure: they stir still;they stir now,white, wild, whippingthe heavy sea is not becalmed;it slaps on jetties,smashes the sea walls,breaks up the boats;and we must shelter.september ii,1981i have cometo meet myself again –to catch up.find fault,find favour.it is the same homing, bleak sea,the same empty horizonblotted out by mist.my heart gives into it;beatslike a forbearing tide.october 1981behind me a television towerfeeds the air,feeds a hundred thousandunseen homes;feeds them all, gannetsrazorbills, gulls greedy as Ahabwith a rattle of stodgy voicesi cannot hear,mayday signalsfor the dying dayfor the yearning empty night.november i, 1981november.the pebbles are smooth,grey, oval, wet;they slide,roll,rattle;children gather driftwood;build bonfires.the inlet – south beach - lies under a muscle of white cloud;wheeling waveswhiten,spreada pale disappearing line;we breathe airno city has maintained;i sit on a washed uptree trunkgreatest of all.november ii 1981just above the line thrownby the strongest wave;just at that pointwhere the sand shelves,where it is wet, softer, darkerjust at that point – that is where the people group where the people watch, where they walkthrow stones;the pensioner too,in his fawn coat,we are just at that point – each day,same time, same placebeside the shifting sea.december 1981 hallo there.hey!hallo!i see my faceunder the street light;i see that when this passionhas gonethe shop’s glass window will remainreflecting it all back;everything bloody thingbut hazy, stickywith salt,it is my father confessormy witness to others who walk,like icatching their faces,in this unkind abrupt waylong before they are ready to own up; catching their features too soonin the vast unending night.february 1982 lean mountainsrise seaward,rock on rock;thin fields stretch,taut as canvassthe first lightgilds the couch grassacross Swyddffynnon,fills the hollowsfrom Pontrhydfendigaidto Ystrad Meurigruns goldover Cambria.march i 1982 unspeaking, we’ve watched the daywake and slide unfelt;old room in an empty house.our bodies lie still,unspent;under the huge grey skythere is no trade.march ii 1982 brieflyi remember lying in your lap,my stock against the nightelectrically charged,incriminated;my fingers familiareach contour knownas my own,the warmth and textureof your feckless flesh.april 1982her eyes coilaround a worldi cannot see;in her headare the smiles of friends,and elders,smiling sadly,as they will smilewhen she is dead.may i1982living by the seawe have missed the firstgraffiti of spring,the scrawl of buds on bushthe harsh soft hasty greenthe pebble beach is our park, cold and harduntranslated, unpreserved,seen in flashesmoment by momentwithout memory.childless,parentless.may ii 1982but for thisthere is no other world;this is the magic of your face,the fascination,the hidden sea - waves rearrange the light;currents coil beneathlike massive ropesencrusted with barnacleswrenching the waterdragging it this wayand thatdragging it into a warren of rolling whitecaps.this is the only place for love;this time my heart will take its ancient pathunseen.may iii 1982somewhere, somehow, something will end;just not be there; we’ll wonder why we ever looked;adjoin, ajar,elude, escape – the door will neverclose again.will never.may iv 1982remember that old image of summer;the blooming trees,heavy with green;the flower crowd and scent – someone sittingnear the house; someone playingthe music of old scores on the piano?it never was. get up and go; the door is open.may v 1982i cannot see it in your eyes, the lover, mistress, master - it is only the ocean i see –the eternal cross of lightdimming in the ...