I was browsing the internet looking for some new poetry and I had to read a lot of dross before I stumbled across this amazing poem written by the writer Robert Warrington.

Nailed to the Sky

If only I had any idea what you did

on hot blue Saturdays

If I knew where you were likely to be

I could create the conditions

to run in to you by accident

Not knowing

not even being able to guess

I walk from the suburbs of purgatory

to the bus terminus from hell

hoping for a miracle glimpse

of your skittering, jittery shadow

on latter-day pavements

with medieval beginnings

or that the crowd

drifting towards the shopping centre

with the stained glass windows

will part and reveal you

standing like an icon

in the exact spot

where hawkers and peddlers

once sold splinters of the true cross

But there are no places

marked with the X

of your sainted bones

only the X

of my petrified hopes

and calcified desires

You’re somewhere else

moving on glittering heels

through someone else’s summer
leaving mine

to visions of high street vendors

with onion ring halos

and no one’s selling anything

that can fill the you-shaped hole

Even the council begonias

become instruments of torture

Their stems are nails

Their petals nail-heads

You hammer them in by being elsewhere

You hammer them in without meaning to

All summer long

I hang above the town

nailed to the sky

suspended

in a clear solution

as acrid as alchemist’s

sulphurous clouds

You put me here

and only you can get me down

Only your cool

claw hammer fingers

can pull out these nails

that open and flower

(by Robert Warrington)