Roselith

Notes from the attic

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For Arthur

But for the heart the hands could not go
        Often scratched, often stung
           For debt never owed to pay

Into the grieving promise of thorns
      Chosen to touch, but never to hold 
          The suffering rose that slipped away 






































The bikes glide by… My front window listens  As they talk between breaths  They skim along me cherry trees  They are friendly with each other  I could be friends with someone  I’m busy pruning my trees  They talk about love, lunch and inner tubes  I’m guessing because I can’t really hear them  What else would… 


















6 BikesDownload





6 BikesDownload





The bikes glide by…





My front window listens 





As they talk between breaths 





They skim along me cherry trees 





They are friendly with each other 





I could be friends with someone 





I’m busy pruning my trees 





They talk about love, lunch and inner tubes 





I’m guessing because I can’t really hear them 





What else would they talk about…Beethoven’s Ninth? 





He was deaf when he wrote it





Like I am deaf to the cyclists 





I imagine the verses 





The rhythm, the humility and empathy 





The longing and acceptance 





The choir, the brass, the apologies and respect 





The competition… 





Alas they slide over the hill 





Into the past, beyond my well-trimmed trees 





As a remnant of genius rings away in my head 





Like a bell on the bars and measured romance


























	

		
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