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| Photo by Larry Clark |
THE NORTH SHIP
Philip Larkin
The bottle is drunk out by one;
at two, the book is shut; at three, the lovers lie apart, love and its commerce done; and now the luminous watch-hands show after four o’clock, time of night when straying winds trouble the dark.
And I am sick for want of sleep;
so sick, that I can half-believe the soundless river pouring from the cave is neither strong, nor deep; only an image fancied in conceit. I lie and wait for morning, and the birds, the first steps going down the unswept street, voices of girls with scarves around their heads. |
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