if i reached into your pockets
i would find locks of hair
braided with lint
and tasting sharply of metal
coins forgotten
like their monarchs
and rusting in a fen
what a rich child you were with a
tiny butterfly landing on your wrist
and strawberries sized for your fingers
i was ten and climbing grain
where were you?
i lost you in this moment and the next
i see you bite down on
an oily wood cane
can you say why this leaves
the space you need
to breathe?
you collect me
following my hands around a cup
watching my fingers form in this moment
under the spell of ancient light
the window is bruised like leather
given blows time honoured
formed before entropy
when you are scared
will you look past the crown of my head to
smell sour wind
and see a familiar shadow
courting you in your distance?
i begin with your feet
your tracks are masked with
junk wrappers and foaming drinks
there was no home on the path
i leave this place
to the mould and gardener
our movement is in darkness
sweet resinous smoke
a static song on detuned AM
resting in the air humming
words settling in my lungs
as my mouth traces silent dialogue
i grew higher than the oil seed
as you left your nursery bawling
i would have liked to be your mother
to love you right
