In the endless metropolitan grey,
the weekend flashes by between two darknesses.
Millions wander lost in the pause;
swimming, lying on the beach or flying,
giving their bodies back for a moment
to the elements from which they were made.
Others die, going back to them for good;
time has washed against them like waves against a cliff
and time wears away everything in the end.
Still others, stung by the same old wasp,
have made a child who, many years from now,
will value his life by these moments
between doing one thing and another.
Those who can’t bear to wade the yawning two day swamp
walk across it on stilts they build from bottles or pills.
But the weekend sun sets on them all,
dragging them back over the bridge
as it falls on another bright Sunday.
(from The God in the Box, Agàpe Publications, 2003)
