By | 1 May 2014

Stepping from white into black
from day into night.
Called out by who knows what.
The night jasmine perhaps, the fireflies,
the rising coolness of the water tank.
All day a folding of facts, thoughts,
wants, packing a new history
to take back on the plane, south
to where the ticket flies, your name
a stub, a booking with an address
devoid of the self you thought

was you so little effort needed
to embrace unpeopled hectares,
stars crawling over the hill
like incandescent spiders, a sudden
owl in whisper flight, a lethal silence
of beak and claw which you permit
to trap your small squeak of fright;
listening then through the night
to Earth’s silent orbit, wishing for
a way to unmanufacture noise, for
a way to keep yourself timelocked,
here, where your loudening city
has no foothold, no residence.

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