After the Concert
falling foul of memory’s snare
entrapment awaits
and the waif-like recollection
of an evening when time crept
so slowly
it felt as if we owned it
as if the moon
would never break beyond the branches
of that winter ash
nor disappear behind the distant hills
it was romantic I suppose
but I
confused
was torn between longings
for time to crawl
so that I could hold you there
for time to race
that I might hold you breathless elsewhere
lately it is not time I recall
but the chill of the night
the cold of the fire-escape rail
on my lonely hands
the dull thumping from the concert hall
the tremolo of my heart
in prescient mood
even then I knew what would come
later that night
and the next when you gently let me down
it was a release
you said
trying to be kind
but being selfish all the while
the moon passed beyond the ash
the illumination of a fragment of time
the varnish and shadow
of a passing moment
Ian Gouge - Writer 