Long
spires
The
cars glide placcidly down
the
centre of Great Darkgate street
and
the sickly hint of moon
hanging
on to the hillside
lends
a sticky yellow light to the town
not
so much a rain as a falling mist
dampening
the rooftops
contributing
to the drainpipes rust
as
the walls wear down
and
the green that grows
makes
its way to the road henpecked
by
groups of folks or pigeons
minding
their steps
as
they walk zig-zagged across
parked
car and motor zone
as
lost as leaves and the towering
of
rain-spattered long spires
