And if at times there seems to be
no more to it than this
return with muddied boots to the locked car
(groping for comfort under coats, cold nose to cold
nose, the same old words you won’t
or don’t believe)
then love is always the path we saved for another
day, the tunnel winding, whisper-filled,
under a sun-rug of November trees.
Also (and always) love is the lit sky, shorn
of its restless weathers,
falling
forever
into everlasting.
Anthony Watts has been writing ‘seriously’ for about 40 years. He has won 26 First Prizes in poetry competitions and was longlisted for the National Poetry Competition 2014. His poems have appeared in magazines and anthologies, including Poetry Salzburg Review, The Rialto and Riggwelter. His fifth collection, Stiles, is due to be published by Paekakariki Press. His home is in rural Somerset and his main interests are poetry, music, walking and binge thinking – activities which he finds can be happily combined.
Foxglove Journal 