waiting to be (3/11/24)

there's a fly
on the windscreen
that didn’t see it coming,
and still the shadows
move in mysterious ways
claiming the ghettos
where angels fear to tread,
silence crawls along kerbs
carried on water
run-off from the camber,
echolocation
hangs in meditation
bathed in a sense of irony,
dreams clamber up ivy
coveting cracks in render,
sometimes the sunset
lingers too long
bleeding the streets of sight,
headlights
street lights
traffic lights,
horns
sirens
walk, don’t walk,
slow down
give way
stop,
waiting to be
waiting to be,
I woke in the dark
and could see for miles.

© 2024 robert greig