I sit in your chair and I look at my chair and despair
At the lack of a view of us both, as above in the air
A vee of geese honking veers down to the park and its lake
And I don’t know if ever I’ll love you without a mistake.
You know what I am but whatever I am is not clear.
All I know in your chair is I wish me in mine and you here.
Chair is flesh in your language ma Chère, I am able
To envision my body, to see me from you across the table.
But this is taboo to my mind. I would usually think
It schizoid in a void to see me through your eyes, in a blink.
(What pain will he cause the next time he moves off and comes back?)
When I look at my chair opposite its pressed back is a rack
Where my body is stretched – seen from you – or (another view)
I am back in my own self there in that chair and see you
Bleeding slowly for me – as I bleed for you now: face to face,
I don’t know which way the directions of time or of space.
As I look at you in my mind are you looking at me?
In a warp of the universe not here or there we
Are two knobs – a tube in between – a dumb-bell
Tumbling over and over it seems between heaven and hell.
Your email: I love you very much. But here in your chair
With nobody there in my chair my existence is bare
As if I’m alone in a pew in a dusty old church,
Ready to pray you won’t stay far off and leave me in the lurch.
Where is our azimuth? When can we stop
The tumbling? – and still stay connected and drop
As one down to earth and just be you and me
Each in our chair sitting here with the locust tree
And the usual Constable clouds to look at, and we
Both North both South, each an alternating pole
Of a vast rolling world we don’t need to control.