That summer one-eyed jacks were wild:
we learned new rules, left tea to brew.
Smoke stilled air. Leaves lay unturned.
Unemployment was another high.
I had been a storm in a polystyrene cup,
seeking scald, steam, instance, but now
We drew up lists; mapped out desire lines; skipped
interviews to collect blooms; paused before flight.
The only record of that time the silt of prophecy,
the memory of weight in our cupped hands.
For a short while we held the one breath:
I could never set it down.
From: http://www.theguardian.com/books/2012/sep/24/poem-week-silt-whisper-ailbhe-darcy
Date: 2010
By: Ailbhe Darcy (1981- )
From Troubles of The World 