Friday, 24 September 2010

Compass

North

from London,
a juddering train,
silver rain, traveling shadows.

At my table I can see 3 empty seats
as if I have no mates, or smell like a beast
and now, spinning around, I perceive

your pull – but you are miles away
and I feel an ache. I long to
swing and quiver,
turn my heat
to you from
way down

South.

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