Visitor

I read myself in writing,

where, sometimes, I discover

I’m revealed as little more than

‘tourist’ in my life. 

I write, sometimes,

as though my eyes don’t have a link

to that odd force that moves my pen.

And when I realise I’m writing

what I know I knew, I feel

as though my words are orchestra

and each new letter’s on a stave

where chord by chord Abide with me

plays on while the Titanic sinks.

My gaze deflects,

and carnival is turned
into the main event.