Poem: The view from here

London houses

Where we are,
is a place that we inhabit.
But is it truthful,
or a simple lie?

Where are you?
Is what you’re seeing, static,
or do roofs fall
terraces tumbling from your eye?

We are there,
in an ambiguous world, elastic
and unable to recall
if we were alive, or supposed to die.

Could you be here with me,
or I there with you?

Or, did I dream so simply,
a one and only view?

Here we are,
in this maelstrom, ecstatic;
immobile as a bouncing ball.
Alone, I miss my sigh.

Can we be,
together in loneliness and habit,
when our ability to soar
intertwines with our facility to cry.

I am here,
in the place I’m least stagnant.
Alone, but if that is all,
Then alone, in this place I reside.



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