SECOND PRIZEWINNER

COPYING THE SIGN
David Hart

I draw the sign for person-lying-down,
remembering the body of Saint Anne of the Blue Rocks
washed ashore when her boat capsized
on her way to commend to the bishop for ordination
the young stranger she knew
only by his prayers
when Jane from the Post Office came in and told me
in the same voice as she would offer me a cup of tea
that her father was taking himself off to see,
if he could find one, an ancient Christian basilica.

As I started to puzzle out where the basilicas were
Jane punched me cheerfully on the shoulder,
and the sign for person-lying-downwent across the paper
making a different sign quite new to me.

Her father never went. I said, 'It was a non-event'
but she said, 'No, it wasn't, now he is different',
and kissed my neck, making the sign for person-sitting
develop radically and surprisingly given my expectations
into a sign quite new to me. And we got married.

The plateaus of Wales have signs all over them
changing by the minute as the winter sun sets.
Jane had taken gloves and we shared them, one each,
and on our last evening in the dark we lost each other.

She was never found, we had gone our own ways
whimsically, she daring me, me daring her, it was a game
high above a lake darker than the overcast sky,
each unable to reflect the other.
When the divers went in and I was told its depth
I knew at once I would never see her.
I threw dog daisies and heather on the water.

I make the sign forwater-flowingwhich is the sign
also for runningand fortrailand for snake
and for lightningand for memoryand light.
Jane's father comes in and offers me a cup of tea.
I say, 'Thank you', and when he's gone I pour every drop of it
into the bucket I keep for the purpose under my table,
and take it to the stream naked, nightly.
He is a kind man, far away.