Now that I know the blank moonscape

of your face, with its dark side, its sea of tranquillity,

now I’ve lived through all its weather,

moods and phases, I can’t help seeing you

and your D.N.A., scribbled like human graffiti,

everywhere in this town. I can’t escape it.

When I see those girls with the distracted frowns

composing their sonnets at the bus stop,

punishing the keys of mobile phones, there you are.

That couple spilling insults at the corner table

stab the noxious air between them with your fingers.

And it must be your swaying, ponderous gait

the old men adopt on exiting the womb of the Black Bull,

to begin their complex negotiations with the darkness.

first published in Alliterati Magazine, Issue 18, 2015


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