Her kettle murmurs Normal tea with normal milk The least I can do.
How I know That souls weigh nothing at all I don’t know.
I will hold these words And try to loosen my grip On everything else.
Five seconds of peace Waking knowing only birds Then I remember.
I just can’t kill our Power-mad wisteria It’s braver than me.
Leaf tip weighs its tear Springs back as the dear drop falls Now for another
I stayed on that path That ran east as the sun set And ran east at dawn.
We fight; I get sick, Say ‘doctor, is it fatal?’ She says it’s normal. 12.11.16
Christmas in July He died early January She’s left his lights up 19.5.15
Old men and babies The gravid, and lunchtime drunks Nap before evening. 23.3.2008