These are what we call The Thrills:
The effect of a balcony on the east;
A circumference and its consequences
(Imposed on tea by tea cups);
The way the ears collect the sonic booms
Of birds as they draw forth dinosaurs;
A memory of the name ‘Reginald’;
Divinity without religion;
A ketch gouging that thing that
Cannot be cut we call water;
The acceptance of perspective;
The absence of perspective from art until
The Dark Ages finally dilated the Western pupil;
The triple point of a butterfly;
A rowdy carpet worn out by ingress;
The calculus of reality;
Leaves falling into their ceramic fragilities;
The skilled use of syntax;
The sudden applause of a flock in
Response to hair trigger imperatives;
The delicious loneliness of a pen;
The crucial redundancy of philosophy;
The male and female of a lock
Waiting to describe egress;
A book of poetry collecting positions
On the bookshelf of regrets;
The indentation that remains in a cushion;
The way now cannot become then any
More than here can become there;
The destination of your touch;
The word ‘marvellous’ learning how to walk;
The last page turned into the first at last;
The freedom of not needing freedom;
The death of ending in the imagination.
These are what we call the Thrills.
(C) N J Green