Look. There are the stones, traversing the river.
You and I ran across them so many times,
Back and forth, exclaiming to the skies,
Then I’d kiss you .
Now the stones are old and slippery. There are no fishes .
I walk along the island conch shell beach,
Sharp to the touch, my soles bleed. Blood trickles privately,
Red, caressing my toes , gently running over me.
True, I never kissed my dead lover’s lips.
But look, there is a butterfly, dancing
Over the stones , flying so haphazardly,
Never looking back, waiting you watch me,
Step, step, step.
I've had many short stories, poems, and articles published, and a book '‘Dancing In the Waves'’ [Mer 1998].For ten years I was editor of ‘Screenwriter magazine.
Ihave run European writing workshops and lead the MA Screenwriting programme at Birkbeck College,, London University.I founded and am on the board of Euroscript, the UK's premier independent script training company.My full profile is on www.paulgallagher.eu
Latest posts by Paul Gallagher (see all)
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