curtains need the breeze
to touch the room
a little more
you speak in song
sing to the robin
about how your heart
rusted red
the horizon howled
snow swept the streets
silhouettes pirouette
with the shadows
of marionettes
star charts
blueprints
for starlings
a gate
spills the garden
into the street
your heart
more scar than tissue now
you’re scarring the scars
just before the kiss
push me back into the world
like ghosts do
when the living get too close
the scent of skin
too much
they push away
because they long too much
for what they’ve lost
they want you too stay
in the world
you because
you don’t want to hold
what will be lost
summer did not live
in that summerhouse
winter and spring
braided themselves there
daylight crashes
against the skylight
woodsmoke laces the air
with the cream
of its song
songs soft as September
whispers through the grass
my favourite bit
when you appeared
around the bend
at the end of my street
come to meet me
the ghost of gold
on an autumn night
stitched together
with neon thread
your black dress
splashed by the sirens
from the cries of the city
your red heels
sparked the sealskin
of the pavement
drains choked with fire
the poplars are still
silver shivers inside
ripples repeating themselves
within the pillars
of their trunks
ghosts aren’t only
what has been
they’re also
what never happened
echo of songs
never sung
never listened to