Luke Davies

Leaving Adolescence

lately and (lightly also) we travel
in the space of sunny afternoons
speaking echoes in the brittle air.

through old stone halls we unravel
lazy words and half-forgotten tunes –
old Memory, sad erratic snare

snapping when least expected
leaves delicate hallucinatory pain
and the beauty of brooding clouds,

dark, full. Grey rolling hills infected
with electricity and a monolithic rain
over us all, shrouds

of noise on the tin roof (but ah, sweet).
lately too when morning reappears in a shaft
of light the world outside is in full swing

felt through the resounding pulse of a heartbeat;
so like an oarsman on a fading raft
I turn, and smile, and out-of-tunely sing.

 


 
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