is the aroma-therapy candle in the bathroom at the end
of a car-burning estate,
the instinct to breathe in, suspend
judgement and keep the (above all lowercase) faith —
metaphysics of streetlights coming on
gradually, each flicker like an echoey cough,
pink at first as the rosy winter dawn
that will see them off —
finding we are each other’s
strangers who stop in their tracks in the night
to stoop and kneel and murmur
to another: ‘It’s alright love, it’s alright’ —
Copyright © Mark Granier 2017
