King’s Square

 

 

In the empty square
A girl is playing her cello.

Each note
hangs like a bubble in the gold
flecked evening air, drifts
past chimneys, rooftops –
curls like smoke through open windows,
street doors left ajar. 

 

A man and woman  turn the corner –
middle aged- festooned with shopping bags.
They stare, put down their load, and listen.
The man begins to tap his foot then
stands tall,
sketches a little dance,a minuet –
holds out his hand.

The woman smiles.
They dance together till the music ends.

The girl puts down her bow, applauds.
The couple smile, embarrassed,
pick up their shopping,
and slowly walk away.

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Excavation in Goodramgate

 

A long incision in the tarmac
two metres deep and strung with cables,
dissected sinews
draped across an open wound.

Below that, a tight packed marl
of clay and river sand
run through with rusty pipes

and dank with ancient water.
I could see bones there –
how little there is left of us –
a carious jaw, and half a skull
scoured with grit and stained with slime –

the trash of centuries, the rags of time.

Quantum Theory