Grief has the same secrecy 

as an empty tic tac box filled with

puddle water. The parachuting 

man we hid in the petrol cap 

of your Mum’s car, quick stolen, 

the handkerchief I buried in the trees.

I liked the embroidery. I like it now,

this grief and its stitches, it makes

me flower even through snot. Things

fly past the planet, roaring. I like

the axis, the counting down. Nostalgia

is a cutie, bean-filled Totoro.

The whirl of fur he lived in. His ancient

teeth that ripped me, the bad quality,

we went all over the world in love.

Paws are unshook hands- yet I'm shaken.

Don’t worry Dog, I’ll find you. In galaxies,
through death. I’ll always be your person.