Two Songs
By Martin Harrison
1. “If I could turn back time I would”
Is there anyone who won’t judge me
for what I’ve done? It’s so like God
to do this to me. I’m turned into
a vessel, a lacquered pot -
space once incapable of grace
now flowers a tulip flame
inside me. I pour waters
through the light’s tumbling counterpane.
I offer thanks to be destroyed.
More thanks to be held, looked at,
cherished. No motive in mind,
I’m tempted by the wish - the thought -
that I can go back, undo the act.
That moment flowers throughout my life,
cut-off, eternal. I blame God for not
killing me. I’m trapped in love.
2. Space Song
Sea-sky arches everywhere between the points,
behind the pillars, on the edge, on the ridge.
On the screen, the blue planet bedded in dark,
the human coasts, the human costs.
Back there, that cracked wandering line:
a billion lines repeat it, cross it.
Imagine a structure without a structure.
To roof something is to think it.
Imagine a structure which isn’t structure,
can’t be grasped as such - a fistful of shadow.
A functioning world without a law,
without judgement, is a daybreak world:
questions address the space, the gap,
thoughts adhere to the contoured shape.