Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
If a new start can be made
in an old place
this should do fine
City of broken clocks,
skyscape of cranes,
roads that give way,
houses that disappear
I lie awake, afraid
of a sleepwalk that would bring me
along paths that used to be,
across a new motorway
Yet you would take my hand
and lead me every time
by different streets
to the same kissing-doorway
Unformed habits
in their throes,
praiseach, the flowers that bloom
on a building site,
one clear vision of colour
I dream of you saying,
why try to square it?
Let things have their way
From Brittle Star No 17 (Summer 2007)