Sunday Times

by Nicholas Johnson

Flights to elsewhere are more necessary
now that awakening itself is setback after
setback as the mutual news sinks through:
We both look through a single window
after all. The view is bricked and bricked
and capped by towers pushing back the sky.
The more trustworthy, perhaps, can hold
their tongues, but ours need loosening.
Wanting to fly is natural. Birds pivot
on their wings and sound their love-sounds
in a trance of wind. Something betrays like rain
when there is the sound of rain but no rain.
The hour gained by turning back the clock
brings us this Sunday time, all intransitive time
allows, as light and afternoon wind down the page.