I came back, the wind whistling in my ear,
dove on my elbow, crow on my torn cuff,
but I could not remember; the long lost year
having left the hourglass like the love
that sifted through my hands less able now.
Dry mouth my only friend and fiercest foe,
I wobbled past each flowering branch and bough,
neuropathy on fire from sole to toe.
Lightning in a bottle lit my way
to where the moss was lush upon the stones,
and crosses mocked the many shades of grey,
the shadows over my skin, skull and bones.
7 April 2015
Piss in the old man’s pail,
young raven on the sill,
half moon carved out of pewter,
the stars cruel as the night.
like Jezu on the wall,
but not the wolves, the vipers,
the flies, the maggots, time.
20 April 2015