Lovers on a Hill by Jiri Borsky
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e c h o f o r e v e r
m a r k m u r p h y
It is not with the ease of everyday lovers
we meet on the hills of this island,
coming to the table as we do –
with our hearts in a state of mortal dislocation.
When we say, ‘we do not want any more’,
it is only because the iron foot of disbelief
would stomp down joy and beauty
in the landscape of our current imaginings.
Oh no, not for us the easy bread
of first communion; we stare into the deep hole
of what went before and dream our simple plans
of a life less familiar, where the schemes
of care are given a chance to thrive
in the telling of some uncomplicated tale.
It is the armour of centuries
we disassemble every time we meet:
this is what it is to lift the cup one more time.