A Maiden Voyage


On the window sill, a vase of tulips
Beckons the eye with its nubile neatness,  
Like the bloom of skirts around some women's hips
Upturned like lamps full of gentle prowess.
Civilising spirit of a feminine kind
Adorns the signs of a man's worldly success,
With the will to know how and where to find
Noble handmade fruit jars and fine teacups
And the patience to see nothing gets left behind.

On the porch two trunks pose like two send ups
As the cabbie arrives late by twelve minutes.
He said something about his horse and stirrups
Breaking between sermons and the visits
Made by the old vicar to the doctor,
Begging grace and pardon for neglecting in its
Complexity the religious factor.
Sarah Whitcombe said that it was all right,
Asking if she could sit in the centre.

Sarah and Josh Whitcombe would arrive at night
At their holiday lodgings by the sea.
They had fallen in love truly at first sight,
Married in haste and as nice as it may be,
The well furnished townhouse was not the place
Wherefore to set yearning hearts and souls free.
The exploration in a hidden space
Of that supple tension of the unknown
Was in the mind, behind her lovely face.


 

Bevagna, 18 12 2007