by the clock tower, night PART I

The tap ran, slow

i smoked as i waited

heating black beeswax over copper

 and steel, watching

the trains cut through the night

over the railway bridge and i heard

the echo of the lift in the building-

travel, 

      up and down,

  through it's concrete spine 

and

i lit half melted candles 

up in the corners, of my little chapel

and filled porcelain bowls with holy water 

wondering

where all my letters travelled -

i wonder, always, about tomorrow.

                          again