Franklin Square.

I love to wake in the damp air of Franklin Square,
Watching those irreverent, inverted pissing geisers
Plummet on the great Man, in broad daylight streams

Lost in the ice, what would he give?
For such temperate relief as this.
I breathe in the moisture and look up at the sky of polarized dreams.

All is well, and I fill in the day, with the great slanted colour of rain,
I don’t care if the wind is wild in St David’s park
And sidelong blows, lead trees gracefully astray

You wander into a café and stare
At your body like a word on a page
And it begins to lose some sense

Beauty was otherwise engaged
When I called her for a definition
And the lexicon mirror,sinister seeming.

But, look – beyond the smeary pane
And the world’s gleaming
The pavement, aflame.

And, You're still there.
In the sun warmth of a dappled table
Where the great statured man is,

His passage in pain, tales gnawed at,
By the history of retreating ice
Is like the mystery of that fountain

It's rippling surface dispersing your image
To the very edge of it's plane
Like a story, lost in fragments, time and again