A Postcard for the Lyrical Astrologers


The Mutable Cross

Shadows peeped from under
the skirts of the fountain
to wonder at the city
into which they had been
born without notice.
The whites of the sky
descended in unison
to muffle the farers’
smouldering voices.
The pocketed buildings
trickled upwards, towards
the love of their chimneys
or the firm passion
of their clocks.
This is how you spoke
your yearnings to me:
your syllables antique
before even reaching the palate,
your pauses burdened
by their own freedom.
In my mind, you eased
your uncertainties
and I drank.

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