Other Writing

Before the city remembers itself,

that blue hour when night

peels away from morning

like old wallpaper, revealing

the fresh light beneath.

She threw gravel at the bedroom window,

crept smoke-soft across the lawn

to carve a new country from moonlight, bone,

scale fur-dark telegraph poles – or were they Monkey trees?

Their evolution of touch: hair to breath, fingers finding palms,

cradling feather-silent, uncensored sparks

they built a dome beneath the holly,

innards glowing as captured fireflies.

Then back the way she came –

pedalling hard six miles through nightgown dark,

her rear bike light blushed into night air

an enlarged heart...