high over the palatinate
a white of corners
heavy as a wooded hill

a hall of whispers and height
when a milk bride
throws a glance over marble

all wait like a clock
this angular memory of eyes

not the millions you imagine
but each star a stranger
lucky to be alone

in a dark flat sky
you must have been coded
and sent off as a message

here i am wax and darkness
silent in the pulled hours

the light from our window,
a crucifix on the lawn;
in rooms we are heavy as actors
slow as a conscience in twilight
as we created a house with shade

and it might have been we
searched with unstilled eyes
the warm garden lost in shadow

but no, the wind stole our sight.

akimbo by water
the drowned, orange-skinned,
greasy, fail to wave

as I ride on my
dead son's bike over
gravel and charcoal

the shouts of children
brake me to search
but all eyes are empty

lost under my house,
one chair less, a hole,
black teeth chew

at a space in my lungs,
less light through milkglass
means a shifting at table

that sinks bits of night
that hide in corners like steps;
a dull ghost is creeping

in times of moving air.

mean winds press the heather
this lost island sinking in silver
holds huts of sighs

and a fence of tide, wild horses
stray careless between stone and growth

let me be your windbreak, a slight warmth
there is nobody beyond my sight

he has a wonderful speaking voice
she always said when she liked someone on the telly

but she didn´t like our Auntie
who had her teeth done private
although she was a leftie

( she didn't like Auntie Gladys either)

she called Dad's tea a special
to cheer him up when his team lost and

she is sort of still here.