So we know
she must have said something
to him–What language,
life? Oh, what language?
Thousands of years later
I inhabit a house
whose stone is the language
of its builders. Here
by the sea they said little.
But their message to the future
was: Build well. In the fire
of an evening I catch faces
staring at me. In April,
when light quickens and clouds
thin, boneless presences
flit through my room.
Will they inherit me
one day? What certainties
have I to hand on
like the punctuality
with which at the moon’s
rising, the bay breaks
into a smile as though meaning
were not the difficulty at all?
(R S Thomas)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Fire Poems, Smiling Poems, Future Poems, Language Poems, Obstacles Poems, Punctuality PoemsBased on Keywords: certainties, boneless, him-what