I ALWAYS SEEM TO WATCH YOU FROM AFAR
On evening where sheets of rooks whirl
like cyclones of flapping ash,
through the dark afternoon window
where I see the shell of a blue star.
I watch you from afar
time beating like an impatient monster in motion,
our day became fitted hours of paid banality,
yet I always seem to watch you leave but never
When I heard the wind carry its voice
from cordial gutter to napkin fields of snow,
where horses ran in triangles of untouched lavender
did I see an image of you walking away.
If I could stop time and its deathly ruin
and pause just an hour in your arms
I would see the true wonderment in love
its necessities and beauty in flourishing threads of time.
Yet I always seem to watch you from afar
either leaving or sleeping beside me deep in dream,
passing me in the hallway at night
like a familiar stranger on a returning train.
NOTES ON MEETING MY YOUNGER SELF
I watched him without interruption
my naïve and arrogant imitator,
a lying master to all assumptions
you see that boy I’m now his narrator.
I saw smudged swans drift in a river
with familiar figures I’d almost forgot,
wanting to question them before time withers
and fading seconds of youth stop.
Yet these cobbled streets held my memory
like a dark star holds the canvas to our sky,
when once best friends became the enemy
the boy started to look through a man’s eyes.
© Matthew J. Duggan
Matthew J. Duggan has published in many poetry magazines such as Dwang 2, Seventh Quarry, Carillon, Monkey Kettle, Littoral press, Chimera, Magpie’s Nest, The Ugly Tree, Connections, Square (On a CD ), M:/P Mag, Krax, and many more.