Photograph by John Cairns
Rise
The cloud that echoes
And the plane that enters
Through a golden gap
Resonate, sound a chord
No one heard coming.
This is now, or as good as.
We should welcome it.
There should be hats.
The cars in line,
The sprawled kids'
Gluey slumbers, fans
And air-con droids
In their high loneliness,
Even cows drone along.
Up close, it's terrible,
A base-metal racket
But not here, afar, not
Now everyone is in tune.
Will Eaves is a novelist and poet. He is the author of eight books. Broken Consort: Essays, Reviews, and Other Writings (CB Editions) was published last year. He won the Wellcome Book Prize for Murmur in 2019. He is currently writing about music and distraction. This poem first appeared in The Inevitable Gift Shop, which was published by CB Editions.