Looked across the Atlantic and was reminded of this poem.
Apart from "this" all was ideal.
This thing that lurks unspoken.
The thing does not appeal
To such warm-hearted closeness,
Nor to the deep trenches of desire.
Where somewhere, lost and broken,
Love dived - to there expire
In pools of darkness.
Lost beneath the ragged outcrops
Of sharp-tongued coral
That, now and again, would drop
A single crushing word
Into still depths of hate.
Beyond where light can reach,
Where joy turns into fate,
And life marks down the lesson it will teach.
(First published in issue 14 of Wayfinder magazine)