On A Pathway Walking

All ostrich eyes and feet of clay you let reality slip trembling through your pale hands and clear-cut smiles and frowns that carved the sky in great circles of timorous starlight; I remember that dream under the Eiffel tower, hair blowing in the wind, cold January moaning to the beat and me, seeing you, through photographs smiling back and smiling back at you through a computer screen hands poised with all those words I wished I’d typed all those things I wish had been said but will remain forever hanging in that dark place behind face and eyes where there was but the taste of what happens next… There is the patter of eager footsteps on lino and I have lost my watch again for the fiftieth time after it was smashed, that first time with you, fragments spinning across the beer-soaked floor. This eternal month of January has done for us both my love and we grow stronger in the shade of the months coming since – growing up and out and up and out, eager for the light to take us in its arms again and for it to be somehow different this time.