Paul Archer - photo Paul Archer - poet, translator



Visiting The Sick

I'd arrive shaking the rain off me
like a dog, frisky, the waterdrops
were broken pieces of cold sunshine.

I might have some fruit or flowers
for you but they'd never be wrapped,
as unwrapping is for celebrations,

for smiles, and not for this inverted
world where all desire and laughter
and hope are turned inside out.

The deep luxury of boundless time -
you were floating along its surface
until its waters closed over you.

Later, when my phone trilled merrily
and the nurse recited the sad news,
I was out with friends, not thinking

of your bruised eyes closing down
on the white sheet nearby, or the ceiling
far away, with no-one there to hold you.

© Paul Archer - All Rights Reserved