Words, peeled off like matches,
spark and flare, then fall
forgotten on the pavements
to be trampled underfoot,
careless-kicked by city-slickers
into gutters filled with the
effluent of the indifferent day.
Words, insignificant and spent,
swept daily into city dust-carts
and municipal shredding machines.
Words, wicked or warming,
words which hurt or only hint,
words in the wake of events,
fluid and elusive as water
flowing downstream, vanishing
beyond reach like the fish never
caught, like colours captured in a
dream but, in the sudden waking
from sleep, irretrievable on the
blank page of morning.