Saturday, 3 September 2011

The Hardest Hands, the Softest Palms (for Guy Garvey)

So strong,
such a burly lad,
but what vulnerability
in his voice.

Do you sing to us
whilst we die,
in moribund lullaby?
Or do you sing
to keep us alive?

You can get in our spines
without artifice.
You know the quickest way to the heart
is a bullet wound,
quick and painless –
but yours never heals.
We bleed for ever.
Because of you
and your terrible
glorious beauty.

The hardest hands,
the softest palms,
such sensitive elbows,
naked psalms,
and a face made from clay -
fired up by the gods.

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