Favourites

I'm desperately trying to go top to tail, wind my way

faithfully and surely to the end,

Page by page, cover to cover, keep them in order.

But I can see the jagged tooth line the sheets now form,

A comb missing teeth,

the breaks in the paper

cutting short

The uniform height of the pages

And all I want is to jump ahead

Skip

Flick through faster

To where you've carefully folded a corner,

Left a little mark,

Signposted your way back to a passage that sang to you

That opened some door to let a little light in,

A little grief, joy,

longing,

Something floral on a damp May breeze.

There's a pull, the need to race through a poet's prose and verse

and carefully crafted wit,

to tear through palaces and over bridges built throughout a lifetime,

to skim the sights, just

To wear your glasses

To ball your jumper up beneath my chin

To root around and find the glimmer of something shiny,

something you marked to visit again and again,

To know just a little more of you.

For now,

I'll pace myself a smidge. Read a poem,

try it twice.

Soon I'll pick up your trail again

As the folded corners march toward me. Then

You'll walk me down your streets,

Your country lanes,

Hold my hand and point to the old acer at the end of the path and tell

me how many times you have passed beneath its yellowing canopy,

Of the different birds you've seen light its branches

and how the sun crashes and flares just to its left at about ten past nine;

You'll show me the things you couldn't forget,

And I will count myself lucky

for a glimpse through the door.