thoughts on diving, or sinking

you see the sun through a mist
atop a narrowing tunnel of hope
you writhe against the primordial urge
to grasp at that last breath and hold,
hold it in your lungs
till they stretch and fill
and burst
and the world turns red
then black
you sink
with one hand reaching toward the light
and around you green murk
disturbed specks of white
swallowing you.
you are lost for those few minutes
lost to time,space,sense,life
you have fallen off this dear warm earth
into the green maw of the sea.

the city of storybook streets

London reflected in shards of broken glass glinting on the pavement, London in fire and soot and grime and fear, London of my childhood dreams and hopes and loves, I have known you since the day I first learned how to read and I have known you since, walking your roads and lanes in two separate summertimes.

i have walked some of those streets that flicker on newsscreens at this moment, shabby grey and mud-splattered, far from the tourist ideal. yet they are no less London than the tourist magnets of Zone 1. it's like Edinburgh, they say of it, sneeringly, "fur coat but nae knickers", well, London today shows the dirty underside of its twice-turned petticoat and dares you to love it the less for that.

on the other side of the world, thousands of miles away, my heart aches for this city, and i tell myself that one day i will return again to look for the traces of me that i left trampled in the dust-covered streets.