I left her waiting, in international radio-waves.
A voice drifting between Western Siberia and Peking.
Minus nine but Spring will come;
you will ditch your great coat and famous automatic
for music and dip a toe in the water again.
Someone's secret code has been broken on the Wall
between the mountains and the Palace.
Tiny taps of a finger shocked into motion
like the hooves of horses tracking back along the steppe.
I left the compound radiator sleeping
and dragged through shadows of birds and dogs.
Above the wind the incomprehensible speech of satellites.
It is no-one's fault if we do not make our way home.
The mountain goats and bears leave footprints on Ararat
and disappear; the sailors climb over oceans
revamped by electricity.
Alan Jude Moore was born in Dublin. His poetry is widely published in Ireland and abroad and his fiction has been twice short-listed for the Hennessy Literary Awards. Translations of his work have been published in Italy and Russia. His first collection of poetry, Black State Cars, was published by Salmon Poetry in 2004. He moved to Moscow in 2002, returning to Dublin in 2006.