Like
footfalls and hammocks
And
snails and cured salmon,
The
hoof, then the roe flits undertow,
To
the peen of the hammer’s red, red ends
Old
gypsum and christening
The
newest glad tiding to
Bestow,
ill-flavored pathways
Marked
by delicately placate hues
Fairy
dust and prawn shells
And
magicians in stairwells,
That
knew the words,
Yet to stain the cellar’s dwelt
Chamois
and lilies
So
softly knitted, giddily we
Sip,
upon cola and sloe gin, fizziest
When
beside tall grass and silted sand
Where a tomorrow’s
yet been dealt
And a future’s yet to dry
A
presence can be present, even for the ghosts of our past lives
