Real

quiet, the thought
moving with the silent
red figures ticking past;
reading with the
curtains drawn:
a day of being
myself, not
under the cosh
but ranging to the
ends of the earth the
reach of the universe
trying to fathom
limitless space
and pull it down
like a kite
lost the wind
falls to earth with a thud
and gathered,
real,
into the hand

previous poem

next poem