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From: "L.O.V.E. Love"
Manchester
Now the light has swung the city
into movement, the mist still
gives no one elbow room, pushed
into blocks by the built-up city buildings.
People move like still in dreams, heavily
to and fro between A and B.
(I missed you this morning
in the globe
of my room, asleep
in the slipper of my bed.)
Leaves
blot the running gutter,
make a papier-mâché of the city
where business haggle
for sandwiches at corner huts.
(The curtains werent completely closed.
You woke me
but when I woke you
were not there.)
Office
lights come on.
Paper rocks like leaves against the feet
of men who sway at seventh storey windows
watching the road theyll drive tonight,
caught between traffic lights
and the need to be home before dark.
Around slip roads Transits
swing into sharper focus
and jostle with taxis
at the junctions of Deansgate.
Pedestrians dodge nimbly between
the corners of cars
and see without looking though
the mist is clearing
and the light sharpens with the clarity
of frost. It is cold. It
is late. The light sharpens
and I must get up
and get on
without you.
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