How gratefully his words describe a hug
that holds his resting body all night long.
With what restraint, yet cruel accuracy
he observes the tattooed street kid ‘born to lose’.
In detailed metaphor, and with respect,
he gives me new perspective on a snail.
He painted sharp a scene that I still see
of lovers bathing, forty
years ago.
There’s quietness even in dramatic lines,
which goes too deep for me to emulate.
He’s dead. He left me art I can’t forget
which shakes me, fills me, and restores my peace –
for beauty so well ordered can do that –
a man I never knew, a stranger I love.
a man I never knew, a stranger I love.
In the Sunday Mini-Challenge at 'imaginary garden for real toads' Grace invites us to write something inspired by Thom Gunn – a poet of whom I am so much in awe that at first I didn't think I could. But after all, I wasn't asked to live up to him.
I'm also linking to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #269