Monday 30 November 2020

1 New Poem

The Water Line

It was so much taking,
loop and drop through steel
pins and sliding waves,
that was done before I came,

That was done without a flicker
thought for me.

I was worse as ghost
than made flesh, coiling
from blank light of
morning dew starts, glinty

Metal shading for the worse-off
of the two days.

It rushed away, flowering
as hibiscus in fall, wilted
and leaving the bruise purple prose
in mouth and to tongue,

That I kissed in salt brine,
once, and for last time.