Leonard Cohen was an island (part 2)

 

I now know why

he chose an island of the blue:

it wasn’t for ease

or cheap squid and retsina.

Callings are quiet voices

that barely move a thought of breath

in apprehension.

Sense must arise from telling vagueness,

a murmur in the line of sight.

Blue print of primitive life,

where primitive means to live by faith.

White stone and horseshoe harbour

the set and setting for hunger,

and the ascetic who follows the wine.

Everted exile: chosen, designed.

All that mythic seriousness, yes,

though his laughter wasn’t a choice

but the deepest agreement

with the natural ordering.

A diaspora of one

he used a liturgy of words

to mark the end of desire in song.

(Curious concept;

it didn’t last long.)