Sunday, 15 January 2012

How is it possible? 
That I find myself hopeful, again.
When all the other sentences have bled to an end.
Every other misery ended a misery.
All the world sent me sliding again, 
out to the wild, wind fiercer, rivers rushing. 
Every glimmer of gold turned out to be another,
duller metal, I caught the reflection of myself,
and counted myself rotten, felt forgotten, 
but I'm here again, hopeful. 
Catching the glimmer, beneath the surface,
across a table. 

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