Aurora

There is no way to begin again.
No direction without this point:
Without a stationary car in the rain at night
And all that was unspoken
Weaved in amongst the music played
And the darkness sat through
And the rumble of the lorries pushing on.
Bound. But not enough to keep off the press of time.
Just enough to tangle and spread
Into the hole of the blackness
Of the night and that transitory rainstorm
That fell and danced and almost sang
On the rooftop and ran to the floor.
Until morning.
When we had to move because of the milk float.
That was where something was tacked up
And now, beyond it,
Cannot be redone or undone
Forgotten or unmade.
That was it I think.
I think it was then.