With or without wings he is coming
at incredible speed from everywhere
to this baking terrace – to here –
as she pours herself an ice-cold drink
outside a house that rocks on cliffs.
She wears shades, flakes in a deckchair.
A red crescent dries above her lip.
O Gabriel make her waking as gentle
as the eye-blue of a distant sail.
Still she’ll drop her half-full glass
in shock and joy at what you ask.
With a choked-up ‘yes’ it all begins-
the afternoon sea will leap and scale
the cliffs to offer its obedience.
The sun will nuzzle like a pet
at her ankles, and in that twilight
shells will sing the vespers of love,
and momentarily across the globe
the day will check in mid-stride
like it’s just stepped off a tube,
looking for bearings, the way up and out.
from Soft Keys
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