Will Eaves: a poem

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.