The promise of a moment | behind your eyes | is that where the | action is? | A brilliant genie | throwing out | pinches of glitter and rank | spells for drowning | spells for smoke | so many | spells for control || And I wasn’t lying | you can see for yourself | the water by the lake | when I was a child | and all I could see there: puzzled and clear | gazes in surfaces | drops of slow, Northamptonshire | rain | and green, grey | reflections of nowhere || You want me to stay? | Our moment is calling | We feel its pull, and how we must obey | its law | of separation | And yet, I could stay here forever — right here — | if only I was faithful | to you, and if only | you were | faithful…

Drops of rain then | Drops of rain now | They are still new | perfect || The rain on the roof | Somewhere to stay | Time intervenes | as it tends to do || The harp of a | hip | fingers, resting on lips | and a voice inside you | making restless promises || A moment’s a voice | We listen to that || I tell you you’re beautiful | before I leave | I don’t even know why || As I step out | through a doorway in the rain | I tell you I’ll come back | if you will just let me | rest for a moment | longer | behind your eyes

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem, August 2012)

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