Half Light Be here when the swallows make way for the bats, when the swans dip their necks into their own dimmed backs, when the face of the town hall sweeps over the river, when the plasma screens of windows light up Mainway flats. When the traffic thickens like neon silt. When the indicator and the brake light and the stricken blue of ambulances distract us from the moon, bowling in for the night. When the sun sets over Carlisle Bridge and amber trickles along Greyhound Bridge I’ll be waiting here on Skerton Bridge in the near dark. Be here when the streetlamps ignite. David Tait iv. |