After celebrating the Jubilee (or something) on an East London rooftop, meeting the early morning sunrise and fooling around on walls and ledges pretending to be Jim Morrison, trying to impress the boys, eventually, late, I made it back to Brighton, which I barely recognised through the fog of rain and exhaustion. I love summer rain, though.
Structures of the night
foreign city light landscape
through the drizzle fog
train rushing through.
Rain is good. Once the
shock of it is overcome
gleaming darkly telephone wires
spreading out, like webs
Strange familiar country
The rainy night brings its own
scent of lavender, delight
trees wetly rustled through.
gullsofbrighton 