Poetry
by Phil Brown
I CAN NO LONGER COUNT THE NIGHTS
I can no longer count the nights.
They slip through my fingers
Like tiny fish
And are gone.
Ah, but there are always more
Swimming up into my hands,
Spiralling out of the darkness.
I can no longer count their number.
Their tiny bodies
Are thrashing, cupped in my upturned palms,
Dying.
I sigh and wait,
Wait for an age to pass.
But sometimes, I clutch at them wildly
Greedy for life.
They retreat back to the safety of depth.
I can no longer count the nights:
They flash and run
Like quicksilver
And are gone.
by Phil Brown
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