GALE WARNING


“Dover. Wight. Portland. Plymouth.

Southwesterly. Storm force ten.”

Season of soggy letters,

collapsed fences, and thrashing trees.

“Imminent.”

 

Buffeted from a filigree path,

I’m woken unawares

to roam other neural tracks,

startled by lightning synapses

in rainy night.

 

From a broken gutter

cloudburst spills onto concrete.

At the junction of sound and light:

the cadence of your name,

rising and falling.

 

“Visibility:

moderate locally poor.”

Jack-knifing across the highway,

an artic gouges tyre ruts

in the verge of memory.

 

Thunder. Counting seconds

to measure the distance we’ve come.

Down those roads not taken

I lunch with your ghost, the unfledged stirring

of wind-blown thought.

 
v.2003

Ariadne's Thread #7, June 2013

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