flightless creatures
You asked me for the story of my life
that was all of one paperweight
afternoon
and a letter you wrote me
reads back, unremembered
half pages of next weekend
when you said you would be home.
The girl with yellow hair laughs
always.
So let’s meet at the usual time
I said and you laughed and said
I’m not sure, what time would
you be thinking as the paper
between us
shook blind flightless creatures
from their lines and cables,
abandoning their chorus to brown
and grey.
So much continues to pre-date,
pre-curse us both.
A river at dawn that turns
back to a night and the view
from your window and ivy
still pictures you blue
like a pair of pyjamas.
The girl with yellow hair laughs
always.
Still polaroid, corpselike, so long ago.
Adjusting your bra, early evening
it reads like a letter, where ink drowns
me out as the rock
pools fill slowly, a slave’s
execution, by moon and by tide.
Or is this the way that September
returns you complete and unopened.
Expecting no response.
May I enquire.
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