• Your neighbourhood poet


Come back to earth, fair daughter of mist and mite alike,

Your scattered tresses trailing behind rivers of sand

On the pavement; come back to sunken doors

That wait like prey upon the hinges

Broken beside, dirt-drained water within. Afloat

On surfaces of hidden grey, stone turned to whim

Once forgotten, twice recalled. It lands on the skin

Of an unwashed corpse, colourless, inane to the sounds

Of life. Come back to the fold of the humblest men

That ever raised their eyes to heaven

In praise of your beauty, now bequeathed

To the mistress of the fields; to the wretched song

Of lovers lost and never found. Last,

The crevasse-cold of metal drowned

In liquid lament, seeping through the tiles

Of a hunted floor, at once reminds

My daughter of the taste of buried rain.

Come back, for without you, death

Is but a lonely friend; it yearns too

For the gasping coolness of summer’s final breath,

For the alabaster skies to smother freedom once more.

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