spring.... the camellia
was in flower when....... when you......
on your last day....

still mostly upright
you and me
creating our turbulence, creaking
through every loaded barb,
our branches whip and recoil
scrape and crack

bits fall off and
we're up to our knees in our years
in dead leaves and bark chips
broken off our customary selves

underneath the sap still runs
builds itself up, takes
a deep breath and
puffs out its chest

ready to burst out of its leaf buds

the can hits the yellow bin, the
recycling one
drips roll down the side
I don’t know you again though
learning about your agenda - but
only partly why there is one

tension wraps you -
a sealed shell at low tide  
you wait for morning

wine stains on the shelf
a flash of irritation ended
coverless on the couch

separateness lingers into morning
politeness papers over open wounds
where repairs could have been made
memory wire refuses to uncoil

we'd overwound the pound-shop threads
of our connection
scraped each filament to fronds
that could part at any moment
but didn't

we argue our differences, forget
to celebrate our samenesses
sensing barriers
where none are

searching through stars
sky wrapped
your surfaces converged
emotions dark as
spoons in a drawer

wings distorted dart
darkened through pines
disturbed
your face clenched
you turn
from the window

lights flower
on your face

throughout the autumn gale
the bottle on the sill
reverberates
flashing storms into the room

minute blue sparks of our crackling encounter
let fly ice blades to pierce
deeply
maim not ****

harsh words flying as wet leaves
torn away
slap against the window

the storm  passing
we asked why

yes, I know I said but you
said what I meant was
you've got it all wrong but I
know you so well what
gives you the right to
assume you know how I
feel all right SORRY as if you
meant it and anyway what was all that about

reflections darkly subsiding
taste remains
raw
resonance of anger in
a dark pulse inside
the blue glass bottle