I
And it wasn’t the moving of curtains like
breathing
or the clicking of buildings settling down
for the night
but a distant loud roaring of engines and
thunderbolts
and his name on the roll-call; insects and
kites.
II
And it wasn’t the twitching of curtains
like breathing
or the clicking of buildings in the night
and the night
but the nearby quiet roaring of blood in
the arteries
and the checklists and wheelchairs; halogen
lights.
III
And it wasn’t the twitching of eyelids one
evening
or throat-boxes sobbing defying the night
but the nearby quiet roaring of blood in
the arteries
and inbreath – and outbreath; - emerald
flight.
