Above the tree-line and below the fog
The day we woke up face to face, like lovers
Donkeys, stumbling like refugees
Jamie made his landing in this world
The shonky side of town, less pretty
All afternoon we stood watch on the wharf
On Mondays red cars enter town
Dear sons, for I am not as you believed, your uncle
By chance, I have come to rest, in my attic
The first time I came to you wandering attention
Widows make love differently
Welcome Children! First to those rare birds
A young man wrote a poem about a bucket
I am, demonstrably, I guess, in Heaven
Good of them, all told, to leave me locked inside
The deftest leave no trace: type, send, delete
The room above the bar was the cheapest we could find
He said he'd hurt himself on a wall, or had fallen
It's not the lover that we love, but love itself
What lovers we were, what lovers, even when it was over
No comments:
Post a Comment