Love is lying on the pavement,
cheeks pressed, querulous hands finger,
against the bumpy tarmac
tinged with the orange glow of the first streetlights
who carry the late afternoon sun
into the night
What are you searching for?
car engine rumbles?
Scramble groundwards, see everything backwards up,
upside down, The buildings come
Crashing down onto the delicate, fleeting sky
and its aeolian caryatids.
(I can only bow down
feet level to the previous pillars of poetry
try to catch in amber
flecks of gold
Something worth the clarity)
From the depths of backwards, her hand reaches out
I hold it between mine, on my chest
as a tomb,
its recumbent pupil-less effigy cupping a prayer
surmounting humanity blindly
I look up
the sky has become stained glass
Beneath me, soft moist layers
under the impenetrable pavement
(like ice sheets, over frozen faces)
lies the decaying crumble of bone and life,
like the sarcophagus' treasures.
I am its facade, m