Grey Town Sky
Grey town.
Sad and happy life.
The tragicomedy of:
days pull you forward
like sad happy children grasping your hand;
corks bob
on intersecting swells and currents.
It is not walking, but falling:
that is what we mean by time
(unwrapped gifts can’t be re-unseen
however carefully we patch paper.)
Grey town sky happy sad day children’s tug:
‘bittersweet’ is unequal to the task,
because it doesn’t say time,
and time is what sad and happy are made of.
Essex, October 2010
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