Her Covenant

To stay away so long
implies a vagrancy of pain
surmised, an ache that still
legitimates concupiscence; feelings
have a way to tell the truth
without a weighted guise.

If you were truly free my love
my presence couldn’t harbour ill
or lie in structured self-defence
whereas the lengths you take
avoiding me denies what is
proclaimed by commonsense.

Believing time will break
the spell of forty years belies
whose spell it was and why it
shakes you well – yours is the
magic still enchanting me
and keeping me in thrall.

Perhaps a rediscovery of
selves we left behind to grieve
can light a way to your return – or
pave a wider path between the
selves estranged; narrowness
of this estate is shamed.

I’ll wait another forty years
if needs, the ache’s relief a
telling compliment – no surrogate
placates a heart and soul
enslaved to She who made
herself a Covenant.
© 20 February 2010, I. D. Carswell