In the silence of longing which tilts uphill towards us,

empty as early light,

the approaching maybe of a single car,

maybe a Toyota, an Audi, an old Ford,

maybe someone hoped for,

a single wave folding the air towards us, as a rush of falling shingle,

falling and falling in a long roll of water, the

fall of the coming car which flees towards us

as if we’re a solution.

 Then falls beyond us,

taking everything, sound and light and loose gravel;

my hand half-raised in the dapple of the avenue.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s