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.