|Sarah Law studied literature at Cambridge and London universities. She currently teaches literature and creative writing at UEA, Norwich. She has two poetry collections published by Stride (Bliss Tangle, 1999, The Lady Chapel, 2003). She lives in Norwich and is interested in the links between spirituality, art and writing.
I saw it written down. It must be right.
Or was it published by a misinformant,
a dark-horse rider in decisive flight? I ask,
and then I take another look. But then,
this situation is completely different. Not unlike
a love affair. A one off. A refrain. The rules
are dusty. Shouldn't I take off my mask;
and let the fresh breeze pink my empty cheek,
have the sun's rays offer their own answer:
honey for burning. What you want's incensing-
see how my circuits blanche at your audacity.
I need to know the basics of our blend.
Fall into place
You love the way my hair falls
over your bones, your prone body, how
I choose to cover you with words
so close to your own. From here
I can't imagine why we ever worried,
even the span of my hand, small
compared with yours, fits to your plan.
I write you down in barely perceptible
whispers, just so I know you exist;
you look for patterns that promise us
an ultimate alignment. It's so crystal clear,
the night sky's X-ray. Bright with symmetry.
I can't expose myself to this often;
I'd end up broken, on the floor,
like a cutting waiting to be swept
clean of its own implications. Tether me
to this quiet language. This one prophecy.