Still Water Prose Poems

Copyright @ 1989 by Arthur Garfunkel
ISBN 0-525-24795-5
Used by persmission of Author - All Rights Reserved


I drifted north on the first day off
to look at the Londoners,
air up the ailerons,
track the topography,
feel England rise from the Thames.
Marylebone Station... Wellington Road...
Noon at the ridge of North End Way.

A particular type of Romantic
will praise the Hampstead Heath -
those who love the upland view,
those few of you with eyes that roam
over the St. Paul dome to Byzantium.

I carry on down the northern slope.
View is lost, all guiding signs are gone,
but one:
High above the heath,
beneath a cloudy day,
two lines askew converge for you
in skywriting.
What does it mean?
The Byzantine beyond the Adriatic art?

O Poor Heart
You are lost. Earth eludes.
You are left with Skyward moorings.

LondonMarch 1988