“But here, as the dawn sneaks up on the last day of summer, and as a man with tired hands watches a young couple dance in the carpark of his restaurant, there are only these: sparkling eyes, smudged lipstick, fading starlight, the crunching of feet on gravel, laughter and a slow walk home.” Prosepoetry Book:If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things Source: If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things
“Sung sirens, sliding through the streets, streaking blue light from distress to distress, the slow wail weaving urgency through the darkest of the dark hours, a lament lifted high, held above the rooftops and fading away, lifted high, flashing past, fading away.” Prosepoetry Book:If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things Source: If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things
