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.
1 May 2014