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
all my taps are dripping
the sun froths and flares
ghosts aren’t only
what has been
they’re also
what never happened
echo of songs
never sung
never listened to
I won’t speak to you again
I will still sing to you
songs white as whispers
same frequency as ghosts
the poplars are still
silver shivers inside
ripples repeating themselves
within the pillars
of their trunks
stars born
from the sparks
of figure skaters
figure eighting
upon the dark ice
of deep space
a blizzard of butterflies
rooms lit by storms
and midnight snow
you’re the drafts of dusk
that sifts the rusty rafters
songlines become sighlines
caves will call
to the sky
sky will become
ceiling
the horizon howled
snow swept the streets
miss the sea glass
crumbling sunlight
in your eyes
knowing fire
through the smoke
of your songs
the tantrums
of your tenderness
how your steps
slowed
to match mine
dandelions
became sunflowers
heads bowed
by the weight
of their manes
stilled by all the sunlight
held in your skin