What Towers? 
Collage Poem from the September 7th Writing Group 

What is it to live here sitting on the edge of the water 
Unhinged. 

I have no sense of place where the creak on the stair 
and the cracks are familiar.
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I walk into the city from cafe to cafe writing silent poems 
The train window of my life

I have come here from many turns 
wrong turns
missed turns

Conversations —locked like a jewellery box 
waiting to be opened. 

The wind whistles on the friendly side of howl 
The water comes and goes 

The herring spawn utter their billion  silent odes
the masts play the marimbas to an invisible conductor 

I was nearly born on the taxi floor
My mind a blur of applesauce

I needed the sea, and stayed for the boy. 

Under the Granville bridge his sense of humour moved me to tears
But the city tidied his home away.