For Catherine

by Robert Fraser

Your voice more than God’s
Has convinced me of this,
Like the sound of a gong as it strikes true:
Many waters cannot quench love;
Neither can the floods drown it.

I heard it in the caresses of the breeze
As it pawed the corners of our ancient
House, heard it in my left ear,
Which softly sung it A.

And what did the ear-drum mutter?
We do not love what we desire and
Cannot have, we do not love
The delirium we crave:
These are intolerable things,
Agents of self -oppression.

What we love is what we have:
The baby’s cry in the garden,
The sheet cast aside after kissing,
The joke once mint-new, now a phatic
Ceremony of calm, the ticking of the
Wall clock, the chipped, named mug,
The mongrel piano downstairs,
Slowly going sharp.

Love is possession. Outside the door,
Delusions stomp, furious and begging, like
Blind, lame dogs.