Cables
Edinburgh cuts a high moon
Hunkered figures, hands expectant, ask
For reasoning, dulled or blank to your rising rage,
some long gone time come close.
Our parting had been frenzied, something terrible,
Staining yells screamed across the still bridge
Yet there,
suspended,
I didn't care for peace.
The fair's tight cables clang and whip across the links,
Through the screwed hooks;
And above us, the whirling faces, soaring,
Beside the city's floodlit stone.
Which is rock,
Like your elbows, knuckles,
Bone,
Framings you'd smash apart
As if the place had encased you:
Pencil lines, ruled out, and pure, graphite, grey.
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