Sri Lanka, adjacent to Glasgow Street

time and distance
compress
an accordion's in-breath
22 years and miles upon miles

this back lane to the flat
where I first loved you
green as our beginnings
and stone coddled

aye, much like
your country of birth
you compared them to.

Sri Lanka,
luscious alive
nut brown and beach blazing,
coral sharp
and red bananas for breakfast;

the leech love suction
in the flow of a river
high on a tea estate,
tramping upwards
through forest
in perfect night
only the kerosene light of the guide
and bush noises
for our senses

until
pilgrims up ahead
chanting devotions
ascending the holy mountain path
to be with the dawn
bowing
to the budhha

and tight-rope toddy tappers
high on raw coconut
whisky fermenting
in our stomachs
till ten minutes after
we were aware of our silly laughter
and drunkeness

the bells of a bull elephant
and its burden

so much
light and colour and vapour
but
a power-cut in Colombo
on our final night
and dusk dark the whole city
a view from your sister's house:
this monster
of a fruitbat riding
above the silent city noise
drinking in the darkness
with its wings
beating its journey in

and an outbreath
and I am back
in Glasgow Street
standing in some empty lane
alone
and distant and wet.