When’s’t? Where’s’t?
When’s’t, where’s’t, the poignant pivot-point?
A diff’ring
(to the usual) time of day,
adorned with diff’rance.
I used to sit in the wind of the morning, hearing them shout out numbers.
Cities in parallel, blended; the nearer past and ancient times.
Told through tense interpretation, their tales light the night and meet the morning.
A day about the harbour. A night around a fire.
Momentum felt as sep’rate moments: such is time.
Written between January 2016 and June 2019.
A river, there, reflects the moment.