The Square

The first day the square filled from all four sides. A stream of people became a river, a tide, a flood.The festival was beginning.

Wine and words (2)

She drinks slowly, thinks
– a white, sharp as honesty –
the memories will flow.

Autumn gathered; red.
Rasp on tongue, thoughtful glances.
And then sweet stories.

Work of a moment on the crowded pavement. Bus arriving, tripping, flailing, bus arriving. Stop. “No, I don’t want a flyer, thanks.”

Usual seasons tick start at equinox and solstice. Here though time measures in acts and givings, starts in summer warmth and rain.

I see you and I jump with joy;
landing has no more importance.
Lake, wasteland, wherever –
my heart continues to soar.

Open air cinema in the wood
this evening.
Tickets five euros
including free drink.
Bats cut across
key scenes in counterpoint.

The northerly breeze gently rolled the screen
while the Turks waited for the scirocco
to bring them to land.

Pigeons court in the fire tender shade. A hawk hangs beady above the radar stirring the air. The plane is late. Oh well.

He stared at the picture, not daring to look away. He held his eyes wide open. He had. He had seen the girl turn round.