Truer
Knowing nothing of him now except this:
a log of sickness upon sickness
embarrassing to dream. The boatyards west
of reasonable shipping. The wars guessed
at out beside the jetty – he abstains
from something, shining buttons. But the rains
keep coming far beyond the breakwater
and if we walk to the same sea later
we’ll see something heaving up beside us:
caskets of grey, white-capped, barren and loose,
the way memories are. At least we know
despite these are not ours they come to show
something of an appetite for love or
something close to that, not true, but truer.
Chris Emery was born in Manchester in 1963. He has published four full-length collections of poetry, most recently Modern Fog (Arc Publications). He is a founding director of Salt, an independent publisher, and lives and works in Norfolk.
www.chrisemery.me