The Boy Who Stood On A Lobster Poem by jim hogg

An instant levitation
fixed you stylish in the air,
over the troubling crunch,
and into the clicks that blurred us:
a grey flowering of moments
on the soft sea and the hard land,
into these grim leaves I rustle among.
A handful of flashes thinning down.
I knew only these parts of you:
your short wars with gravity,
soon attritioned out by gravel,
by the corners of dreams
broken glass and knuckle blood
on weekend handkerchiefs.
But we were no stars, except in us,
alone, beneath the falling stones
in little woods; not even distant dots
in any kind of history but this:
we sat in the night unknown
and we waited, and we dreamed
of ripest apples about to fall
across the little burn towards the light
from the house of strangers
in the ash that flew too fast
around us and wore us down
to useless wings
even before you left.

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