by Nick Swarbrick
In the warm turquoise of the night
I join all dancing princesses,
open my book, unwrap all my prayers
hoping tonight will differ from all other nights.
I push the words I have lugged up here
Like packages, parcels tied
With strings of meanings
Off a cliff, into the empty air
Down to a grey indifferent sea.
Tonight, maybe, there will be no need of seraphs;
tonight, maybe, the psalms will turn to honey in the mouth
tonight, maybe, there will be no Noli me tangere
tonight, maybe, it will make sense make sense.
