blogu' lu' wannabee

the port was longing

the port was longing

not for this ship

not for that ship

not for this &

not for that…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

the morning show,

the afternoons,

the evening

one town

at many different times of day

at different times of year

the same strange town,

the same short street

which stretched

from end to end of that short quay

a single string:

a single taught-stretched string

there, where all the music was held tight

in that one-fretted instrument,

a single street

a single street was stretched tight by the waters

to walk upon those stretched-tight strings,

was music the street, the street in rain,

the early morning street, like a budding flower

the early morning street, like a budding rose

The Angel came to him & said

“I’m sorry, mate, but
we talked it over
in Heaven
& you’re going
to have to live
a thousand years.”

… he sat
on the edge of his bed
all night.

Day came
& he continued to sit there.

He thought he would never be able
to understand
what had happened …