London Times

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I gather your lost poem, untethering this love song
from the cold of London streets
Black River Nile meets White River Thames
I arrived atop the Blackhorse
through tubes running like massive roots of the Baobab
I saw the Seven Sisters, Black Friars and Waterloo
but I saw you too, dancing to the coming winter in blue
whistled by the mythical Thames and the logical Nile…
the poet didn’t go insane, he was counting London night stars
a billion lights that couldn’t match your beautiful eyes:
the bulbs of my heart, connected to electrons of your blood
shone more than ever…
I am in tears my song, London is raining…
London is draining my memory,
London is straining…
inside of me.
I lost your poem with Heathrow’s throw into London basement
Central London is still lost in my world.
I am darker than the coming of the rain
but this poem is handwritten by stars in bright skies
of the Kingdom…
The old stone is new to my own eyes:
Westminster Abbey and Houses of Parliament –
the politics of poetry rumble in the din of the Piccadilly line,
at Charing Cross, Trafalgar Square grabbed my height
when the poppy blossomed in the fireworks above the Cenotaph
and the Queen, o my, the Queen strode the streets!