At The Door

You stood at the door
of my life and executed
wisdoms that had lasted years.
No thanks could make
amends but the thanks
of years of compliance.
Now I know your smile

I shall watch
for the moment of going
when routines fall apart
and the soft heart of love
falters as it does,
from time to time,

as only it could,
the silence of pain noted
and given over to God.
What explains things now,
what force is there left?
This is the science of life,
unashamed, unmarked,

tearing everything to tat,
everything that does not matter
but the folly of words spoken in heat.
When you come home tonight
I will pale to worship you,
the candles lit, the child sleeping
and the many mothered tongues

of our forgetfulness ended,
the stars bright as fury
marking our trips down,
the last word spoken
softly as if the world
would wake,
discovering our secret.

John Cornwall

If you've any comments on his poems, John Cornwall would be pleased to hear from you.