|Posted: 18 December 2005 at 3:54pm | IP Logged
The martins spill water
Which I leave you with.
Their screams are unsung. The river rises.
We search for order…
Information in B-roads
(there’s an unhinged gate. A solemn sign).
As we slip, the air
Doubts our direction. We’re our
Own possessions, trapped in a neighbour’s room.
You talk of impossible songs
Madrigals of fire
Decomposing where the vines thicken on outside walls.
It’s not quite Winter
The rain is contagious.
The window is wide. Moving.
Hear the tide fall back.
Suddenly. It’s deeper than apology.
Shallower than the river’s skin.