Contact James McGonigal
Time of Fever
That day the fever turned a Mondrian shade of blue—
I thought they were selling the air above me
and wanted the sale to go through.
Green lights were shining in bushes where sparrows
switched on little torches of sound. Sweat’s coat
was buttoned at my throat.
We stood on a bridge. Still waters were balancing
their tray of moonlight where two stars
blinked—ice cubes in a glass.
And further on we passed an empty site—road-
widening operations. Yellow rough cut stone
and sorry earth that was crushed and torn.