Gold

More than a colour.....

I’m not quite sure what 
the question might be but
the answer is always gold - 
your colour - the element
birthed in a dying star, exploding, 
becoming something else.

I think of the miners, hunting it, 
digging for it, dreaming it
into their lives, making the search some
metaphor for themselves - the struggling,
the wanting, the wondering when 
will be enough, the knowing it never will.

For them it is the holding, the having but
your yellow hair was always more
a symbol - the jewellery you wear 
gestural, expressive of other things.
For you it is the perceiving, the flow of light,
the simple act of looking, seeing gold.

And like that substance you are
always yourself, only and ever, 
your numberless atoms forming
coalescing, pausing their race for this
brief moment, joining mine, catching 
the light, shining in time, space….

Waking in the hour before dawn we make
this place together, watching the moon 
set over our river, the yellow disc 
sinking into its liquid track with a silent splash -
your heart beating under my hand,
your favourite colour, quivering on the water.

Gold.

Yeah I know - what has this photo got to do with the poem? Well - my excuse is the colour gold but, really, I just love Iceland and the photos I took there :)