And if I slip beneath

the water,

would the sun still 

paint the surface,

and would the tide still

carry us

out to Lampedusa?
And if my hand loses yours

beneath the waves,

would I ever find you again

on the shores 

of Lampedusa?
And will they feel this

in the Rhine,

in the Danube,

in the Seine,

in the Thames?

Sorrow in veins,

as lights come on

in homes reflected in


stars like fires

for the dead,

as fishermen make their way

back along lanes, their

backs against the cold,

far from Lampedusa. 
IOB 8.10.15

About Ian O'Brien

I am a teacher and a scribbler, living in Manchester, UK.
This entry was posted in Words and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s