Without knowing where the singing comes from, they stop on the pavement to listen. But
someone else is watching. You can see nothing and know everything, trying to remember
where she went. Every one is waiting for the train to depart, a pretty face at the window.
The past we created doesn’t die, though the house seems empty. Between two barriers
you can see the street. We always leave something at the door, which opens without
anyone noticing. The sound of rain imitates footsteps.
Ian Seed writes poems, stories and reviews. “At Rest” is taken from a book-length sequence of prose poems, The Favour Of Night, currently seeking a publisher. Ian’s last collection was Rescue (Moss&Flint Pamphlets, 2002). Poems have recently appeared in (or are due to appear in) The Argotist Online, Aught, Exultations&Difficulties, Great Works, Maquette Magazine, Milk Magazine, The Penniless Press (UK), Poetry Nottingham (UK), Ragged Edge, and Stride Magazine. Ian is currently working on a translation of Pierre Reverdy’s long poem, Le Voleur De Talan.