Meeting you was unexpected
twice over. You departed ten years ago;
We hadn’t spoken for a long while,
losing touch in different continents.
Who better, then, to kindle poet’s imagination?
Climbing through early morning’s mist
upon holloway leading to bare summit,
where views cloud-smoked.
You stood silent upon edge until my approach.
Turning, your presence was amazing.
In every respect, you were as remembered;
the clothes you wore, black leather jacket,
faded jeans, workman’s boots.
Praying fuller humanity awake,
visionary in lineage of Blake.
You bestowed your understanding
of what’s gone and is yet to come.
When I declared your presence impossible,
you couldn’t comprehend my meaning.
You knew not death.
Once you were loquacious, quick-tongued;
today you’re often silent. We sat down.
I asked a question,
relieved when you replied,
thought you were gone forever.
We sat among trees whose roots
reached to Bronze, Iron Ages.
The words you spoke
came with stone-starred wisdom,
formed into planet at beginning.
Morning’s fog burned up;
standing amidst purpled heath,
skylarks sang invisible
liquid melodies across domed eternity.
Is union creation’s currency?
© Phil Kemp 2026
