And as I wait I tremble
These plates are floating, though I know
They shouldn’t be.
The buildings lean in, lowering
Over the street.
Cobbles rush their ancient patterns.
Windows are eyes, but
Lashless. Their cords rattle
And the dancing stars crowd down
Like lemmings
In the dark ink-blue.
I wait for you
In this raffish café
At the edge of town.
Thin, the moon, poignant, thin,
Its blade cuts at my heart.
And I think you may be late.
Clive Donovan is a full-time writer of poetry and has had many poems published in a variety of U.K. poetry magazines. He lives in Totnes in Devon and has yet to make a first collection.
This poem was first published in the magazine Brittle Star #35