Countdown
The hours
In six the sun
Will rise up slow
And sweet
Eight
In the air above
London
Watching the runway winking
Farewells
Countdown the days
Tomorrow in Dublin
Friday in Glasgow
Saturday the highland grasses
Swallow knees and wave
with gentle sharpness
And there might be a man
With a lilting voice
Breaking like waves
Over me
And there might be a girl
With copper hair and
A body like a boy.
And I’ll still be counting down
To someplace warm
And safe
And drunk
And happy
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