Anthony Adler

 

Written, on a train, at night, admiring the view

 
They could say anything, those words.
Upstrokes of arcane glyphs drip
downwards, Dali-like, across a flannelled knee,
captured on the compact-format paper
but still remaining somehow innocent;
the consonants and vowels, the crest
of some great wave not yet to
break; white spaces, a horizon.
Then he turns the page: a complex rustling
of concertinaed air to something new:
a photograph, of Someone,
Somewhere. Infinite. Inverted.
 
(The train continues on: we do not speak.)

 

 

 Anthony was a commended Foyle Young Poet in 2007

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