Brian Obiri-Asare | in pure moonlight

in pure moonlight

+++over at the chop bar, where they’re still palavering
& holding onto the promise of this world, her sighs return

+++from the abyss where they hide, by the filthy river.
they don’t hear it. no one does, not while the city burns

+++& the dusk has darkened to soft red rust by the
lingering smoke which prickles our lungs. they don’t see it.

+++in the flames, I saw her. an ancient city was razed.
in the debris, her sighs echo. I turned. they didn’t see me

+++turn to see her – by the sewer – a glimpse held forever.

*****

what displacement?

+++the dust is swirling in through the cockatoos, spreading out in a film
on the states of our exception. it sweeps in and smothers the clothesline and

+++we can chill out back here on the verandah as if we’ve lucked out
with opening night seats and watch. ours is a best-missed dump of a town

+++the grey nomads say. even the cockatoos be laughing at us, some
dust gathers in the air ready to spread a sense like the start of blindness

+++clings to the sheets. our eyes glaze over. ready for the film’s refrain

*****

Poems © Brian Obiri-Asare
Image: Stocksnap Pixabay cropped