Horizons

The horizon is not a ruled line it weaves into the unseen
it is a seam wearing thin between dreams and the exaltant
exhalation inhalation, the many one more steps the seems
the street below has set up bunting white orange day glow
hip hooray a street party no, no party, opposite – don’t come – go
no beats no dance just clank crank progress yanks on our doorstep
these seeming nets, those seems not sputter but
no more tears clean
steam in sip of possibility salvage after sleep’s wreck
seep of heat     creeping cracks                       in skins
our papering over        temporal arteries, window sills           careful
chocolate hot and cold, ticks on charts, questions fast, listen slow
steel your axons                      manufacture primary colours girdle in
until you enjoy your own show
lean in see                   eyes are still in motion
luminous as planets                 cores warm and dark within
one task, one footstep more towards where words nest
the way bars of a song hunt                in one at a time persistence
as this fixed eye shutters in reflex, so shifts a horizon line.