Saturday, 1 February 2014


I hover above the city, wingless,
every bone as thin as string,
taut as an horizon. Below - 
a crumbling labyrinth of catacombs,

streets of fading Greek and French,
a Jew hobbling, the scent of sea,

brickdust rising in a desert wind.      
I was there once, earthbound,
rooted in your hand, tamed by crumbs,
shedding songs for  you of love
and  distant lands. I curved my eyes 
around your limbs, your kisses  lay 
like prayer beads on my skin.
You were my spell, my augury of loss.

In a lens of refracted light beyond sight,
I see your heart, a bruise, incurable, 
never  hushed, tucked inside you,
a knife in a sheath, ticking as you
stalk the streets - a skilfully
moving dream hunting sex.

You watched me once - a scandalous 
leaving - sifting through the slats of 
shutters, floating  from the terrace, 
my backward glance, a broken arrow. 
One day I’ll return: a windblown hag
falling from the sky, an aborted planet,
landing where the bay curves and
the candy floss seller blows his horn. 
You won’t know me.


More of my poetry can be read on,,



No comments:

Post a Comment