Friday, 17 February 2017


Spiralling out from the mind
hope, a rope to coil
around unsuspecting habits and you —
your words, stars that burst and I
move toward sound, bending like a leaf towards the sun,
remember songs sung at night,
hands on the speckled red laminate of childhood,
the crickets outside — ghosts that call cats
into the night-light playground of dreams;

sometimes the two of us share thoughts
before separate incidents from the past
divide what was momentarily joined.

When hands touch, fingerprints collide
so quietly no one notices the change
until at some later date, looking back,
realization dawns as a smile or a nod
and what has become just is.

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