In silence

Since the morning
into the day
still unlit
rain I listen
its bones crashing at my window
in the company of a wind
and its sorrows
brought to my feet
raw meat
begging for a touch.

Take me in.
Place me in your arms.
My sorrows are great.

I don’t move
and just listen
and for a while
there is nothing else

but our breaths in silence.

In -ness of things

It came again
this muddled time
and all I can think of
is the quality of air
we breathe
in and out
we are peeling off
years of each other
we are in -ness
of things
lost
and we only scratch
our faces
to see if we bleed
hoping we don’t
we are spent
for anything else.

It is for you

Is that you
flying off my shoulder
tapping on my knees?

Is that you?

Food left on a plate
is for you.
Come
come closer
it is for you.

They found a wrist watch
in your inside pocket
broken
straps missing
the golden wrist watch
you brought for her
from Germany
and a black and white photograph
of you two
together
porcelain still.

Come
come closer
the food is for you.

Remember our autumn walk?
We stood over a fox
alive with worms
and we talked about death.
Remember?

Remember?

Is that you
flying off my shoulder
tapping on my knees?

Is that you?

I’ll come tomorrow
and bring more.

A move

I sat on the edge of a mattress,
watched her fold her dresses,
and imagined her in each one of them,
red with birds and blossom,
brass, raw umber, copper rose,
peach, salmon, bitter-sweet,
corn-silk and lust,
stardust.

Earlier that day,
we went for a walk,
held hands and ate fruit.
She held onto a half eaten pear,
for some time,
teeth shaped into a shy woman figurine.
She said she couldn’t eat her
because if she changed her shape
she would lose all her trust.
The shape once given
cannot be taken.
She put her down among leaves
in bushes
for foxes.

Later that day,
we sat on doorsteps,
she was leaving,
in milky September light
with her bags packed
waiting for a car,
and we both could see
the sun was trying to reach our toes.

She told me a story about her great grandfather
and how during the Second World War
he escaped being captured by German soldiers
hiding in a hollow tree trunk
in midwinter.

And after over an hour,
the car didn’t come,
but the sun glinted off our toenails.
We remained motionless
in each other’s arms.

My eyes

For you
I brought them
for you
my eyes
here
on my palm
my eyes
they smell
of dust and fuel
my other eyes
have died
they were only
six years old
they couldn’t look
anymore
I have only
these left
I give them
to you
would you take them?
for news
about my mother
and my brother
too
they separated us
apart
the agents
while travelling
somewhere
yes
I think
Europe
it is the big country
Europe
they weren’t good people
but they gave us food and water
it took me two months
I think
in the back of the lorry
to come to your country
please
would you at least take my eyes?

On the South Downs

“Warning: all our horses are microchipped
and can be identified by the police.”

An origami bird of prey is skirting the field
looking for meat on the horse-training fertile ground
changing its colour every time a cloud washes over her
or is it only dreaming.

Buttercups are shaking off their wet heads
in the wind
I’m trying not to walk over mushrooms
sitting in clusters
if you come closer
you can see water streaming their bodies
but there is always something to be disturbed
and if only I was a feather to raise with every current of air.

The Seven Sisters in the distance
bodies of sea creatures
pressed together into powder white
years of death upon death
into the white oblivion
They are calling my bones
pile me on
press me tight.

dreaming

who is to say
where should we lay
clasped like oysters
shore wide
scaled with salt
set to listen
pebbles and sea