Nostalgia
Don Paterson


I miss when I could drop down on all fours
and flick the ground away from under me.
I miss the wire I ran into the earth.
I miss when I was the bloom on the sea
and we slept forever under the warm clouds
till something spoiled in us twitched with design
and woke the clock. So we arose and went.
Last night I rowed out to the beeless glade
and lay down on the grass to listen
to the water eating at the edge of things.
My sister taught me to watch the stars this way
lest I think that heaven was up, or heaven,
lest I forget the stars are also under us
where they sink and sail into the dark like cinders.