The rock will weather the human storm
And aeons hence will thrive still
Over the cold mountain, the clouds arise
And the gold sun.
We may not have been together in life
but rock does not hesitate to fall.
Our dust will mingle
under the red sun.
I have lived as all have lived
with the infinite collapse of things.
I have loved, and will love still
and soundless in the darkness.
You know who you are, my friends.
I sing your song forever
I chant the requiem and praise
of the bright world.
It’s too late, I’m too tired
There are too many small senses
Crowded into the bed with the big
Beige allover tiredness
Let me sleep, let me not write
The aches in my arms tonight.
Only warm up the bed till a)
I can finally relax and b)
The bus is late
Condensated windows drip
onto raincoats, yawns, mornings.
Alongside, a giant spider crawls
slowly – it’s so big
it can crawl slowly and still
It takes a sodden leg
and taps the misted glass next to me
dunk, dunk, dunk
Pensioners get caught inadvertently
in its slowly trailing web
then go back to sleep.
Branches scrape on the bus
like dull whistles