And As I Wait I Tremble These plates are floating, though I know They shouldn't be. The buildings lean in, lowering Over the street. Cobbles rush their ancient patterns. Windows are eyes, but Lashless. Their cords rattle And the dancing stars crowd down Like lemmings In the dark ink-blue. I wait for you In this raffish café At the edge of town. Thin, the moon, poignant, thin, Its blade cuts at my heart. And I think you may be late. Clive Donovan This poem first appeared in Brittle Star. Clive Donovan lives in Devon. His work has appeared in Agenda, Acumen, Salzburg Review, Stand, Prole, and Interpreters House.
2 Comments
Bob marsland
4/12/2020 08:13:03 am
Nice poem published on my birthday
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clive donovan
5/13/2020 02:49:35 pm
Yes I am. Funny meeting you here. This is a hell of a magazine to wade through...!
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April 2025
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