At times I lie here
under quilted half sleep
I think of your cobbled madness
tucked into alleyways of rogue tourists
At times
the lull of a metro worm here
reminds me of sooted nostrils there
Of gaps to mind
Of the blackness of my heart rolling up
an escalator rail to emerge in a volcano
of never expected English evanescence
The damp morning quiet
Birdsong in birth
The memory of so much
too hard to contain in one heart
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Of yearning and learning
of love
of role-playing and pre-something
and post-everything
Oh old crone with your crystal glass in
expansive greens
And the riot of religion, language and flower
Spires wedged deep in ever cloudy skies
The smell of you seeping from my pores each day
Each day I am reminded of you
Each day away from you
the longing to keep being half-asleep
increases
Dubai, 20th Sep 2018
For my grandmother on her birthday
(after Alex’s St. Paul’s at night)