for Margot Douaihy and Lina Mounzer
London
is an international idea
and a historical fact
and a little piece of our youth
like a stallion which stood about for some years
standing still within those some years
(with muscles and veins full of warm hot blood)
It is a stallion with hot breath
standing inside a particular year
With public transport which rears up
and sinks toward the pavement
With pubs and gardens behind pubs
With pickles and pints and a shared feeling of love
clicking against the pavement
It is stamped-down grass at Greenwich Park
and violet lettering of the nail salon
and a black dress worn to the gallery
and a sink full of washing up
and a desk full of writing that wouldn’t cohere
What’s left is ash (a little evidence)
and memory (a cold dry husk)
A year that felt like billions
could later feel cool, as stone feels cool
Scattered every which way (like breath)
