Poetry Centre

The Intimate Leap

  • One, two…five
    lined up
    where buses stop
    and I walk by
    the wind, in its rush
    past white-haired neighbourly love
    sweeping down the gritty muck
    of yesterday’s snow
    I race the bus to the lights,
    the future push through café doors,
    this girl – three foot high…
    past glass
    we wander in Heady space.
    She turns, smiles
    turns, runs…

    by Paulette Mae