Vincent St. Clare

In absentia

Moments and hours and

Days and the years

Between them


Gray wall to closed

Door, pittering slicing

Rain on curled shingles,

The same deafening 

Silence, the same vague

Eternity sputtering

Out with a heart under

The armoire, collecting dust


No time for tears nor a

Face to give them

Reason or form




Blue perfume gives glory to the drowned earth, 

Where she meets heaven at the meridian of time. 


Pale haze licked the shore,

Touched with its cold hands the stones and the breathing land, 

The creeping wind and the silent cliffs, 

The shadow of a way, 

A word, a nameless light…