Dying Light
I’m staring at the windows of Mainway Flats and waiting for the last light to dim. In Beijing an artist acted just like this, standing all night outside random buildings, looking in on the lit late-night lives. Like him, I’ve stood on bridges in the dying light waiting for someone I recognise. Like him I’ll go home when the little lives diminish, when the sky’s old lights extinguish with the dawn, when the river, in the small hours, teems with the night. David Tait |