The Question I

such a long 
way across the miles
of land that separate
you from me - yet

we sit under the same sky -
I read Euripides; you
work at your desk issuing
edicts, head inclined

toward a screen, voices
down the 'phone connecting
yes and no and maybe in end-to-
end streams that trail into

cracklings and silences - the 
buzzings of an endless machine.
your normal thought is 
broken-handled as your briefcase -

stuffed with old
statements that display 
hoarded wealth in paper marks
you would not let me see - 

scared I want your money.
love misconstrued is a
January day across miles of
greyness and changing country 

distances a crow could fly -
misconnecting Dorset to
St Andrews - worlds away 
and wide discrepancy of value

and reasoning - bad lies live
between us like unwelcome news
unspoken, endlessly deferred.
I wonder: will you call me back

to say that we will meet and 
never part; our love last forever? 
how do you join sorrow with
regret to make a thing whole? 

too much weeping severs a
connection too frail across the
miles to hold for any length
of time; leaves nothing to reclaim.

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