but still too far away
three weeks into the country
slower
more used to everyday hellos
still the same old work
deploying the line of reason
for all i know and know i know that knowing’s nowt
template life not quite escaped
method lost in method given
for all i live for something more
for every line that’s touched my heart
for all the ways i smudge the line
breathe with it
how easily it escapes
ties me into knots
whilst so essentially straight
so not the point
and best yet, always me that is to blame
for getting lost
for distance from everything else
from myself

this poem will not save me
by itself
except in always beginning it
again

A. H / K. H-H (17 January 2019 – thinking, having heard Mary Oliver has died, of her poems and especially The Summer Day and Ich Bin der Welt Abhanden Gekommen and The Journey — and many more which share so much)