Nostalgia and Christopher Marlowe at a Late Hour on a Winter Evening

(for James)

Eating a kiwi, I thought of you tonight
And that “light-filled” garden, as you say…
And I wonder, was it the late summer herbs,
Or the comet (it hung over our roof for
The whole month, remember?), or
The voices of the dead enshrined in the
Stones clicketi-clacketting under our shoes,
That made us wise “beyond our years,”
As you say?


Try as it might, my memory will not stretch back
To the very first moment we met; I have
A vague notion we both wore black
And were just two silent silhouettes
Sharp against a deep-blue evening sky.
Do you know, I was almost mad at you,
Later that evening, for trying to set me up
With somebody whose name I don’t remember
Any more (Paul, was it?)…

I can still see that garden. Tall grass
(They never really trimmed it before the first
Snow, did they?), the rose bushes with two
Guardian-swans, the ice-cold pool (with
Dead squirrels on the bottom, the story has it),
The Chinese pavillion enveloped in its mystery,
And, for some reason, an idle zeppelin,
Hovering carelessly in the heavy summer air.
And me, outstretched, being aware.

These are your words, we were aware,
Of every moment. Did it prolong our
Allotted time, or did it shorten it, I wonder.
Would it have happened, without awareness?
I eat my kiwi and I think of you,
Doing cartwheels around the gigantic oak-tree;
I think of me in the enchanted garden
And I know I am committing a crime
Of sentimentality. But I look out at the snow,
And I am aware.