The horizon, you see,
is in here, tied round my heart
to keep my eyes on the slow
passing of comfortable days.
There are times for looking beyond,
when the moment is safely past
and I can bear to discover
all those misunderstood certainties.
Then people can even emerge
from the mists that wrap our days
as bubble wrap round china.
Then the terrorist can sob
for the comfort of his mother,
then the policeman can see the fear
trembling in the burglar’s eyes,
then the politician can see the sallow skin,
the exhausted rags and the empty shelves of poverty.
Beyond the horizon are jagged peaks
and canyons of untold depth,
then the blood flows, the light shines, the cheeks sink
and beauty presses its lips
against my wound until I retire
to the protection of grey mist in the twilight
on the endless featureless plains.