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It was a night entrenched in darkness - where
arrow-like light split open consciousness
and spread narration in its constant sands
the dribble infinitesimal never
emptied. Even when we slipped the golden
thread of lights onto the black stretch of road,
the strong thrust of the bus, the galactic
haze of Heathrow* - these fell so acutely
through the glass: the terminal swooped; and then
like music written to a score the flourish
of resolution (your wave) punctuates
the proceeding silence: questions and jokes
stand for a moment robbed; then like nature
the rhythms return, and turning, turn us.
*London Airport |
