Her

The dull, draining pointless monotony

Of the grey slanted, soul less heart

Of the people coming, going, coming

Moving, walking, moving, running

Of the same in, day in, day out

Day in

A car drives past, again

Again

The gently seeping, bleeding wound

Opened, weeping, closing

Healing

Each person sat in each small room.

The lakes fill and rise

As if emptied by

Her graceful mind

She touches buildings

And whistles fast through streets

And slows down slowly

Draping her arms along aching shoulders.

The day starts in the traditional way.

The evening closing with it's usual

Flourish

And people move as if the sky pulls them

Upwards to an end

There is an end

But not here

Here the day will start again.

Streaks fly past the platform

Inordinately heart stoppingly

Stopping

They struggle on

Fighting crowds

The crowds will still be there tomorrow

When the clocks start once more

In the station's hall

That never ends.

Birthday's rip the seams

But soon they will be

The abyss of yesterday

Torn paper strewn on the floor

Amongst the scatterings of the last year

A year that though gone

Has not yet finished

As empty balloons are tied to doors.

Lying on the ever moving waters

She lies

Her hands trailing in my head

In every shoe on every foot

Fingertips on nerves

She glides

Her lips are sealed, for not a whisper

Can ere escape from Time