She calls you in the early hours
then you can’t sleep
You carry the starlight for a few moments
in a world of cats and clocks
The stars tremble uselessly
There is nothing you can do with them but look
and presently you put them down
Your glance moves listlessly over the wall
and then on to the sofa with its violet cushions
then back to the wall
She is inside all of these things
yet not inside them
She is inside you
Then you can sleep for a while

You see her again but nothing is settled
None of your days seem finished now
and yet by the same token
nor do they feel like they ever quite start
before they’re over
Something immense and fragile, like a glacier,
fills your life
The lamp with the four stems casts a network of shadows
over the room
There is no such thing as light without heat
or so you believe
You find your life keeps opening up into pools of stillness
moments of arrest
with reflections in bathroom mirrors
a hesitant face which is, apparently, yours
and bars of sunshine across the polished surface of the table
and nothing to think
and no movement to make
which might forge a plausible reason to journey
to the next insistent instant
but of course
you get there, anyway
It is a landscape of coda and aftermath
An existence which seems all mid-afternoon
with hollow spots of sunlight dosed up on tranquillisers
The bridges are out and the power is down
and reflections of empty boats float on the river
Then she enters you and you stir again
All the beads of all the moments are pulled tight upon their thread
the slack is taken up
and you kiss the nape of her neck
and want her in impossible ways
and want her…

The colours are fugitive even the rose hips
At work, you continue to perform intricate tasks
the purpose of which you fail to credence
You have become as much a machine
as the lifts and computers all around you
Like vegetation greening up in spring
she comes to you in thought and wishes
as if the chundering photocopiers might break out into leaf
and the cables put out shoots and flowers
You can feel the bits being passed from disc to server
server to server site to site
On the commuter train among your intimate clique of strangers
you hug your mobile waiting for her voice
or the discreet bleep of a text
Like a baby out of sci-fi or of manga
you lie passively in a cradle of technology
your eyes which were once the eyes of a wolf
and your body which was claimed by gods
restrained and catered for
Inane as jellyfish
drifting in lank tides
useless truths
cluster and multiply
The world slides towards heroes,
the irrelevance of a completed line
Soon we will know everything
and then we will keep knowing everything
every day until we die

At the back of your mind where the dreams still come
where stones move and sigh
you still submit sometimes to the divine unease of life
as it quickens you and makes you thirsty
Mostly, though, you don’t think of her
or of your complicated love or of
the doubts which found the heart
or indeed of anything
which might genuinely concern you and which might turn you
back into significance again
Instead you content yourself with surfaces
or try to
You call her late in the evening
but she is not there
You lie down and turn off the light
Before your eyes cease to be your eyes
and your day over
the darkness of your room is briefly filled
with the creep of white glaciers
and with the sound of the trees outside
moving in the warm breezes of spring

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