The Heathrow Song

I wrote this poem in 2005 - I knew then, before I entered the dark times, that in travel I might find grace -

In my dreams, or in bright rooms, I ask myself - what must I do to be saved?

I smell petrol in the chill air above my car -
Vivid blue flowers are spilt upon the forecourt -
The beautiful jets fly through the torn up sky -

The gag set upon my mouth begins to fall away -
Urgent guitars play upon my radio -
They sting my heart with their furious calling

I drive through the flickering dark of the airport underpass -
I see windows, like yellow beads, set in the cabins of the stilled jets

The airport screens flicker their lists of the names of cities -
Prague - Moscow - Venice - Cape Town - Istanbul -
I hear the music - I smell the stone - I touch the ice or sand that each name brings

The watch is broken by my blood -
The flying moments are wrapped round my face like torn up flags

I want to be in a taxi in a late night city -
Driving past the stone torrent of a huge cathedral -
Hearing all the secret songs of the world

I want to trail my fingers in a dark basin -
Look up at stars in a hidden court -
See figures dance upon the air -

I sip my scalding latte -
I step out into the airport concourse -
My life begins anew