Might I, Might We.

That I have felt the good life in so so many places
That I have traced love-lines on so so many faces...
Where does one go
When one has been gifted these opening lines...

Those lines followed the reading of The Nightfisherman
Selected Letters of W.S. Graham
W.S. Graham
Edited by Michael Snow and Margaret Snow

The blog isn't in any way a letter is it

So how to be so personal
So sincere
As when writing letters to a friend

To be able to work through
The joys and the sadnesses
The peaks and the troughs
Of the mental and physical tortures endured

In my case, to listen to Love's Born Again

From their Forever Changes album

As I lay in the warm bath

Smothered in Molton Brown fragrance

Is there any need for a poem today? I suppose we must:

Might I write of you

As I write

Of spring entering summer

Might I write of you

As I observe

The words of Pablo Neruda

Might I think of that place

Beside the apple blossom

Where we might lay together

Might I think of that hut

Which, with a lover’s touch

Could easily be constructed

For no practical reason

But to sit in, to write in

To make love daily

Might the timbers

Give us their sap

Might we thus grow

For no other reason

Than to be nearer to each other

Nearer to love