Here I am

so paint me thus
my feet up on the chair
The Whitsun Weddings annotate
whilst out there 
the unnoticed air turns blue
in here 
the room is loud - the fire's roar,
the house's heating churning in the pipes,
the dog asleep, oblivious,
the cat stretched out
and mother quietly resting in her bed
whilst day turns navy
and skies grow old.
In here these leaping flames are eager, young, 
and I sit quietly quiet and yearn 
for sights I cannot name,
the knuckle at the door unknown,
the voice long-gone,
a home with someone 
sitting in a room
and wonder at the human facing -
who she is and how she was
and how she will and if she will
let him into
her tight life.
So paint me thus, just me
and Larkin comfortably
sitting with
our feet up on the chair,
pondering the turning air
beyond the square panes darkening there, 
the glass turns navy,
turns to black
and cold comes down to glass the snow
and no-one comes
and no-one goes -
so paint me thus
with no way back 
and no-one left to show,
for the turning of these days 
is quiet and slow,
they stretch ahead unending, fallow, 
with me in them 
breathing
loud in silence thickening.

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