The Widower

The Widower

Ion Corcos

And now he is so far,
jumping from the remnants of a broken wharf
into a lake, and the jetty
where he once took a ferry to the mountains.
He cannot see the boys and girls at play,
the water subdue their fire.
A widower of the world;
all that remains for him is a cave,
wild berries, simple clothes.
In the morning, the sun wakes him;
he listens to the birds,
takes in the warm air, till night nears,
and once more, the calling birdsongs
fill his spirit. Watching a hawk circle a patch
of grass, he watches a hawk
circle a patch of grass. When he sleeps,
nothing matters; it is as if he has died –
the petals of a flower closed,
a bee that has retreated into its hive, the way youth throw
themselves into water.

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Ion Corcos
Poet

Ion Corcos was born in Sydney, Australia in 1969. He has been published in Cordite, Meanjin, Wild Court, Wood Cat Review, and other journals. Ion is a nature lover and a supporter of animal rights. He is the author of A Spoon of Honey (Flutter Press, 2018).  

 Photography by Ilushka