Sunnyside

In Newcastle Central Station

The girl at eight,
On the moving stairs,
Glides in to an abyss.

Grows Vision,
Insight,
As she declines.

Descendants Flying,
Fly,
To Stations to the Cross,

It was only a moment for you,
You took no notice.

Among shafts,
To stay, to linger
In flaming Sequoia spring,

Then leave free,
Nether on to nonsense,
In Evening Land.


15th May 2005