I’m looking at yougoingto look at flowersseated across in t r a i n sas the fields swim past usthe horses in their stablesrun out to look at the lightningisn’t that momentous
you are looking atghosts of peoplecrowdedcrouchedshouldersbeckoning to be seenyour eyessee flowersfrom Japanpollen stemspetals soaked in redand hands caught in them
there are cabinets Idon’t touch anymorethere areno answers to touchbut onlyin touch
there are dreams inunhinging of curtainsin windowssoakingfilaments of feelingsfrothed in eyeslooking out atArthur’s Seattwin towers at Dumbiedykesare we all replicastwice removed from yesterdaybut not here today
so I look at youand her and the lightsblinkinghesitatingonly in photographson how they want to be seenand the man of the pastis still looking at mewith no apologies