The warp and the weft
the gust and the squall
the shout,
and the sheer 
that sends it aloft…

and within
and without

the drivelling smoke 
of winters

through sprawling,
ancient chamber walls.

To a city at night,
to a smouldering croft.

The creeping of shadows
forgotten desires
the concrete
that softens at dusk.

The dappling light
coruscating bowel
the garbage disposal
the breathing of trust.

The noise.

The flapping of wings
the cooing of doves.

The hush. 

The trickling pipelines
the flowing of time
the lack of adventure
the enfolded love.

The start from a nightmare
somnambulant shock
the beating of hearts,
in their mouths
they are stuffed.

Come unstuck.

The warp and the weft
the air in-between
the closeness of morning
the lingering dream.