In Limbo,
there was an angel crying.
…
She was kneeling next to a fountain,
at the bottom of a small garden.
…
I watched her from behind a bush,
silently.
…
Her tears fell like blossom,
into the clear water.
In Limbo,
there was an angel crying.
…
She was kneeling next to a fountain,
at the bottom of a small garden.
…
I watched her from behind a bush,
silently.
…
Her tears fell like blossom,
into the clear water.
I found you in the garden,
by the gooseberry bush.
Your wing was broken,
and you looked frightened.
…
I watched as you lay,
still and without sound.
You breathed fast,
and your body looked tired.
…
I placed my scarf around you,
for warmth.
I brought you into the house,
away from the night.
…
In the morning,
you were gone.
I found a nice place for you,
under the oak tree.
We lay entangled in the room as the heat surrounded us. I could feel her heart beating as my head lay between her breasts. Her skin tasted like the sea. I moved my hand slowly up and down her thigh, then gradually inwards to where the skin is soft and smooth. I swam in her sounds, diving deep and holding my breath for hours. She called for me, once, twice, her voice rising higher each time. We twisted and locked and breathed. We said love and meant it.
…
I stroked her warm back as she lay still. I kissed her dark hair. Outside, the afternoon was coming to an end. The cars moved slowly in the road and the trains hissed at the nearby station. All across the city, people were coming and going home for the weekend. I heard the men in the park talk loudly about the day. I listened as the women talked softly about the night.
We closed the door on the night behind us. The lobby was still and did not stir at the sound of our arrival. I held her hand as we walked up the stairs to my apartment. She was wearing a black dress that hung perfectly on her slender shoulders. Her dark skin was soft and warm.
I watched her as she stared silently out of my window. The city burned bright beneath us but the room felt calm and separate. She turned and our eyes met.
On a secret shore,
clothed in silk and decorated with gold,
we smile, out across the bay, towards the ocean.
…
Listen to the sound,
one ear to the ground now,
the resonance,
the humming,
the crashing,
the hissing.
…
The birds understand,
about love,
and loss,
death,
and the night.
…
But slowly,
be gentle.
The sea kisses our feet,
and we are one.
…
Perhaps the sun,
will repeat forever,
and the rain will drench us,
until proud,
we appear, arms open,
ready for life.
…
Like the words of the book,
or the hours before the dawn,
we know,
that these are our days.
Like the fairground, you left grass flattened.
A black bin bag, tied up by the fence,
full of cans.
…
You left with the night,
still young and at your heels.
…
I watched your face in the window,
on the last train out of town,
and I’ll never tell you how it felt.
I’m here, behind church,
like it said in the text.
It’s where, I’m alive,
reading names,
of the dead.
…
Your smile, it fades,
like the bleach,
in your hair.
Your roots are black,
my mind’s elsewhere.
Just burning,
eyes rolling,
lips moving,
motion groping.
…
Ink spilling,
walls painting,
shapes forming, all alone.
In the Elysian Fields, we will lie,
between colour, below light,
and the souls, who cloak the blades,
will be heroic and virtuous.
…
You will not collide with the wounded angel,
bow your head as you pass,
through the gates of glory,
as another guest.
…
You and I, will be,
forever entwined, for we know,
you walked within the realms of gold,
hand in hand, with the divine.
I sifted through the wreckage, searching for bits of scrap worth using.
I found a sheet of corrugated iron with rust on each crest.
I found two long, wooden poles.
There was a blue sheet of tarpaulin, but it was ripped and could not be used.
…
I looked around me for a good place to start.
I spotted two trees, perfectly straight, and the exact distance apart.
I cut two slits in each, inserting the first and then the second edge into the trunk.
I forced the wooden poles firmly into the earth so they occupied the remaining sides of the roof.
…
When this was done, I sat under the shelter.
Sun rise. Sun Set.
Dark skies overhead.
O chimes of the east.
Sink low to the west.
…
Bow mares of the plough.
Drift warm into sleep.
Kick heels in the earth.
Dig hard. Dig deep.
They sat in silence on his bed. It had just gone midday and the room was beginning to warm again. She stood up, lit a cigarette, and moved gently to the window. Looking out towards the city, she saw painted in the sky a brutal collision of emotions. Sadness, regret and disappointment lay dejected in the grey clouds that floated above the skyline of the metropolis. Overcome but still and silent, a solitary tear fell softly from her eye. They both knew that this was their end. She left with no words and never returned.
He awoke suddenly. Someone was at the door. It felt early, perhaps still night. Slowly he rose from his bed and towards the dull sound which had now ceased. He asked who it was but received no reply. With one fist gripped firmly on the handle, he pulled the door open. It was her. He looked into her eyes. She had not slept. Her face was pale and empty. Her hair was tangled and wiry. Her lips were cracked and sore. They both stared through one another and did not say a word. After a few minutes of stillness, he held open the door and she entered.
It was dark before he finally arrived home. He lit a cigarette and lay on his bed. Exhaling heavily, he tried to calm his mind but it was too full. Voices swirled from one side to the other. The events of the past few days seemed etched into the very fabric of his existence. There was no escape from reality or return to normality. His life contained only the winter and it crumbled in front of him like a burning tower. He sat in silence on his bed as the night hung heavy in the street. The deafening sound of silence encircled him as he lay there, waiting for sleep.
Outside, the humidity of the street was almost unbearable. He avoided the road and the intense glare of the sun. People watched from their windows as the forlorn figure walked by. Some gazed with a morbid fascination, often given to obvious intruders in this wealthy neighbourhood. Ahead, a woman nervously crossed to the other side of the street before rushing into her elegant abode, slamming the heavy door behind her. He was used to this reaction whenever he came to visit her. He was used to the stares, the whispers, the general anxiety created by his presence.
