You know that moment?
That moment - just an instant -
When you’ve had the slightly drunken row
With both the cooking and yourself
And for a brigadooning second you see the final truth?
And it’s damp, old, splintering timber,
Dark brown and splaying at its hacked and broken ends,
Spanning an abyss which is itself
Black and deepening red?
And then the end of that unfinished bridge
Is all the fucking thing that you can’t see?
Well, that, along, just beyond
The corner of your eye,
The crispy, tissue thin yet brittle
Edge of eternally recurring sadness
When the September nights turn on us again
And start closing in
Circumferencing everything.
That. Forever,
Before a second later
I blink and pull myself together
And let my heart, pro tem, fill back up
With joy. But can’t you see?