Cluster lilies in their blue fire thrust
up through Wednesday morning.
Tomorrow will be the same like those
falling Dominoes that go up and over
and around, or mattresses too,
all people going backwards on YouTube.
They are like that. I like it, the simplicity,
these flowers will brown and I will buy some
more, doodle them onto the vase
with an immediate pencil. Days go by
in some kind of sequence but suddenly
I am old. When I dream of Goblin Hill
and I am always 12- a tooth we
dissolved in Coke, I think: In 100 years
we will all be dead. It’s as hard to imagine
as space- or the softness of Mum’s
upper arms. They existed and Honey &
Betsy too. Such tenderness in every
rickety synapse, built-in, see-through.
All we ever can say is I love you brave wraith-
I will always forever love you.