it's the steepness of the fall
the plunge of marble
loosed by two or three kids
one saturday night
their mate getting lucky
in the beat-up six
at trackside -
her angles as sharp
as the beaches'
in that moment of stillness
before the assault of waves
ageing streetwalker -
only one out
in the cold
(flashback)
indeed
a romantic figure sound
of carillon drowned out
by sirens a brutish industrial canal
lined in behind him
those terraced houses!
through such streets in lamplight!
never in the finest polished
prose of his contemporaries
such hair! such
eyes! such attitude
in the legends of the valleys
in the ministrations of mumbling rains
in the songs of mechanical sparrows
in the meanings of sorrow &
pastiche
-low moon over rooftops
(a fine day in the present)
the elder poet ingests his own verses
eyeing acclaim like an arvuncular
telepreacher being comely
she is writing the 6th volume
of her autobio having reached 19 &
ready to tell you
all there is to know
her is to love
her
hair her eyes - such eyes!
his hand shakes
(& rests on cheek & chin)
a smile blesses with dilation
out of frame
they adjust the lights
her hand in his
no - his in hers
(low moon over rooftops)
such a cover!
such a story!
& they find each other so interesting
despite the years
because of the years rolling down
the valley
turning its nature outwards invisible
fingers adjust the flow
of viel
the fall of stars