And the people come

and the people come and the people
go and the 'phone won't ring
your fingers don't twirl the thing
the cord the dial
at the line's end -
the line of coast a travelling
a rugged thing 
the sea bashing its way in
for miles and miles
over by through which down in
the 'phone won't ring for me

and I can't see, can't hear
you where are you there
sitting at a desk or on a bed
seeing pictures in your head:
red triangles, blue squares
a daze of stars exploding 
layers and layers of sights
and places, people, faces
guns and trenches
tanks and things
long treks in wet fatigues
and secret things

my thought wings itself
out my head, past my desk
over bed and through my
window out to sea
that dark long vast extremity
stretching ragged lines
north then round and down
to a coast faced with different
winds of temperament

and I am lent, and you are lent,
our bodies bending through the years 
can you hear my whispered
message reach your ears?
breathe-in the god-thought calling
you to check your change
find a box to dial-me-in

and you: extraordinary, winking thing
your hair and eyes alive
blushing, curling with the sound
and sights of life you are
drinking in that long slow draught,
life's wine, the stream of
blood held in your arms

branded, you are branded
etched and pledged
an acorn crusty blooming
into slender green
living-in a growing seed
pod of burgeoning
and my head my bed
are yours to keep - your gain
territory widening
as you claim your land.
Do you hear the birds
that sing your trees to sleep?
I hear nothing
'phone won't ring.
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