- You are a tunnel
- the run of years has worn
- into overhangs and in-curves
|
- and the hours
- soak though you
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- Light
- stumbles over you,
- sinks its loss of heat
- into memory
|
- Seconds
- sieved and tumbling –
- you cannot return
- but you are here
|
- In the shadows,
- puppetry
- of the life you’ve led,
- its Russian dolls
- sliding out of order
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- A hint of malachite,
- of topaz, corundum… hairlines
- in the stone
-
-
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- Long,
- strange fingers, and the nod
- of their painted eyes
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- And the new dolls
- hatching eyes; the in-breath
- between the light
- and the wall
|
- Yet you are warm. Time
- thieves from its own well
|
- still flickering
|
-
|
- In the shine
- and the slippage
- that takes you forward.
|