Poem for now...
was picked out with particular clarity; each action and its consequence,
each conversation, carried a charge,
a peculiar fateful prickle. Even the leaves on the weeping ash seemed preternaturally
green, even the fall of light on the pond
seemed to assert itself with a painterly significance. Each perception carried an odd
freshness - as if something amazing had happened,
thousands of miles away, as if a painted lady had shaken out her wings and the waves
rippled into corner shops, dusty wardrobes,
the far reaches of provincial department stores, lifting the undersides of cells.
And I, myself, radiated energy; it fizzed and buzzed
from my fingers and hair like a power. I bought a bunch of flowers, and the chip-and-pin
gadget seized up - I could feel my crackle
freeze its digital groove, scatter integers. And each smile was vivid that day,
like it was the first
and last time that face had ever smiled. A net of starlings was an act of God, and
a sunflower sent me to my knees,
lost in the swirl of its milky way head.