i'm not sure
but i think
it was when
you tried to
teach me the
names of all
the constellations
they’re
the same stars
every night you
told me and
i didn’t get
how something could
never change
nothing
was bigger than
that darkness in
that moment stifled
breath and quiet
buzz from the
space heater at
the centre of
the table
an
old man came
down the lane
whistling a tune
about an old
man coming down
the lane and
you laughed and
i laughed and
i forgot to
watch for
comets
what time is it there?

mary presses
a wet hand to my
forehead. drink
she tells me
and so i dart out my
tongue,
lap around the
mole on her inner wrist,
leave ash
in my wake.
trail houses as i plough the fields
for wheat,
as she counts my coppers
and a stranger kills her
doctor-husband.
mary’s palm
resting on the small of my
back,
and i buckle.