Tuesday, 15 February 2005

nunsmoor park

The walk took one minute
And laid it bare like the surgeon’s task.
The hill ran away from us, down itself,
The recomposition of anger.

Upon that peak the night broke into two
A spectrum of indifference
Frayed white at the edges.
With vertebrae click we set off into
Grey sketchbook landscapes and cut-out towns
Afraid of the horizon and its protest but
Full of rain, we grew infused, melting
With pavements and great slats of heaven,
Our words dissolving into vats of weather
Like meaning in song.

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