At the meter board
The power is off moon less night
stars broadcast, a lingua franca
in orbit of this fatal space.
Yet when dawn puts a finger
to my nose and the river speaks again,
everything is new innocent as genesis
without a shadow not as before.
Birds flutter through a reveille
small talk of waking things,
my life out on the perimeter.
The old world’s a safety vest
too pithy, how the same instruments
cleaned and dressed made ornament.
A jangle of keys to witness origin
replacing fuses, where light has no mercy
only a well honed opinion.
- James Walton 2018
James Walton was a librarian, a farm labourer, a cattle breeder, and mostly a public sector union official. He has been published in many anthologies. journals. and newspapers.
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