Rush Leaming     Stories

 

THANK YOU

 

If there were moments of dust,

blinked so pale by a shadow kiss

through markets where noise

cut like water through a scream

and rooftops, sweet night knows,

touched time to the flesh;

on the cold floor, round the white heat,

above the orange-cut tentacles

that ran far below us

as you held my feet and we flew away

straight into the split-street of our past.

 

And if all of dark latitudes pull a ruby point

where we swam the sphere

and kinship was a blue buzz that we drank;

then with you, wrapped in smoke,

upon the quiet, grey wall,

I skip backwards, and bow gladly --

I was there.