the moon's black disc distinctly,
slowly, pushed part-way across the sun,
as a counter for outrageous stakes,
is laid circumspectly on another.
They added I should only watch
backwards, through a cardboard box.
They even drew a diagram, numbered
those already blind. It rained
all afternoon, of course. It was not
till four o'clock that I walked out,
saw, in the empty, silvered street,
a shadow on the shadowed light, a scarf
of dark, like smoke from barricades
of tyres, an apolcalyptic city fire.
I thought then how it is with us -
I stare, you turn away and flush, as if
from heat, bad odds, a blinding glare.
We generate that sort of weight -
an unnatural, thickened, net of air.Reuse content