Prospect

Prospect

Prospect

Anyone who wanted to could leave, could gather
   shivering on the south side of the river,
labelled and provided for with socks and sweaters
   and a little cash. We walked across the water
in our thousands and left behind for ever
   all that was great: the monuments and sewers,
cathedrals, theatres, mothers, lovers, brothers
   as the flames licked at the city’s raging heart.

Faced with the prospect of living forever,
   we headed for the country lanes together,
imagining the parties de campagne among the clover
   and the stories each would tell the others
on the way. We had left behind for ever
   all that we had loved. It was a start.