Read More Poetry
Tides
The evening advances, then withdraws again
Leaving our cups and books like islands on the floor.
We are drifting, you and I,
As far from another as the young heroes
Of these two novels we have just laid down.
For that is happiness: to wander alone
Surrounded by the same moon, whose tides remind us of ourselves,
Our distances, and what we leave behind.
The lamp left on, the curtains letting in the light.
These things were promises. No doubt we will come back to them.
(The poem is by Hugo Williams, who I read in the Times Literary Supplement where he is an occasional contributor to the TLS’s Freelance column. On the strength of his beautifully crafted columns, and this poem, I have just ordered his Collected Poems published about eight or nine years ago.)
