Like an earthly constellation, the horizon before me
Evokes the Giant’s Causeway of the North,
Staggering up and out of man’s ever-rising domain.
These offices and homes dot the south-west with
Lights of deepest yellow, red, blue and green
Throbbing and waning against a blackberry sky.
Tonight the city cannot rest . . . cannot smell or taste another self
Though plump with longing, barking dogs and buses humming down deserted roadways.
A walk signs beep for the restless feet heading south of bad dreams,
Thankful the city is so consuming and she,
A light among its constellations of yellows, reds, blues and greens.
Pulsing against it are the day’s broken relationships, monetary conflicts,
And now, spastic electronica, drum and base.
We’ve spent forgettable moments,
First loving, then despairing;
Plugging bottles full with each,
Except now we’re in crisis,
For which we scour our shores,
Having so much to bottle
And no bottles to fill.
Where did the sand go?