Gyroscope

So we could pirouette

On the point of a needle

Even slip through the eye

If we keep dancing close enough,

As the ground thrums

And pulses, convulses.

We have spinned focus

Colours blur to a single fixéd mark

And you become my own optical illusion;

Balanced, gyroscoped

Out on the edge of my field of vision;

Yet somehow right at the centre of my world.

Outside, after,

All sounds are dulled

As the air opens and shuts to let us through

The tunnel walls respond to our footsteps

With echoes, on reverb.

I take your hand, just in case

We tilt

Off the edge of the world.

 

 

3 Comments

    1. At first I had ‘designed’ it so the whole poem looked like a spinning top on the page! Then I thought it looked kind of naff 🙂 Thank you for this, I’ll have a play and see…

      Like

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