Standing on the top floor of a hotel car park,
the sky is in that strange between of night and day
where you can still see the moon in the drooping dark,
and sun rays warm the bellies of clouds on the horizon.There's this dimly lit calm across the cityscape and it seems as if the world is holding its inspiration
in anticipation of something gloriously climactic.
And I do the same; scanning with kaleidoscope eyes the flurry of walls and rooves and buildings that should not exist nor rise simultaneously but they do.
I close my left eye and outline the line that divides the sky and the city And as pretty as each dome and tower and windmill may be Individually it is the maze they create in unison that seizes the wandering mind.
The maze at whose centre I stand, with a man I probably understand both as much and as little as I do
the worldstuff sprawled before me.
And as I've been thinking these thoughts the first fire-dipped fingers of the sun have already reached out to paint honey gold roads in the sky. And behold! The sun breaks through the distant skyline All orange and red and flame bulging from the depths of the earth as gloriously climactic as anything I have ever known.
And all that was lacking was my very human eyes
too weak and unholding for the brilliance unfolding before them. So the sun spilled into the city into and from my eyes before I blinked away its reflection.
The man that I both do and don't understand
Stands with an expression quite like the one I would make if I had his face. And with our blinded eyes and brave faced masks,
we leave behind our perch in the sky.
And I ponder the contrast between tales of love that end with a ride into the sunset, and our silent amble away from the sunrise now.
