The Lover

Iron soaked by rain

Was what I found,

             The idea of purity I wanted

To cleanse the gross involvements

Of my thick fancy

             Where everything I loved

Was spoiled, made heavy

             With my possessing it.

                          To think of this wet metal

             Was to shed passivity;

If I imagined the taste of it

             I was strong.

That clarity I looked for, though

Either has no body or must be

             Some lighter element:

This thing’s not always welcome,

             My choice was flawed,

And now, everywhere in my mind,

             That sullen weight, that naked flavour,

Hector and madden me.