Oath | The Poetry Foundation

I swear that I would not go back

To pole the glass fishpools where the rough breath lies

That built the Earth – there, under the heavy trees

With their bark that’s full of grocer’s spice,

Not for an hour – although my heart

Moves, thirstily, to drink the thought – would I

Go back to run my boat

On the brown rain that made it slippery,

I would not for a youth

Return to ignorance, and be the wildfowl

Thrown about by the dark water seasons

With an ink-storm of dark moods against my soul,

And no firm ground inside my breast,

Only the breath of God that stirs

Scent-kitchens of refreshing trees,

And the shabby green cartilage of play upon my knees.

With no hard earth inside my breast

To hold a Universe made out of breath,

Slippery as fish with their wet mortar made of mirrors

I laid a grip of glass upon my youth.

And not for the waterpools would I go back

To a Universe unreal as breath – although I use

The great muscle of my heart

To thirst like a drunkard for the scent-storm of the trees.

Source: Bedouin of the London Evening: Collected Poems (Bloodaxe Books, 2014)