use the scarred skin
of your heart
to scratch a match
awake
then light a candle
in the cave
reveal the stalagmite
and stalactite stretching
dripping
towards each other
eventually
the tips of their tongues
will touch
spark at the heart
of the dark
they share
watched the wind
read the fields
each blade of grass
a word
you’re the barn owl
born from the ground bones of a bonfire
in the font turned firepit
at the heart of my crumbled cathedral
we breathe in
the dark of each other
silver poplars shiver
with the echo of light
wind gathers in the trees
stories to temper steel to
when the story falls silent
the folds folded
asleep inside the blade
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
you’re the green fronds of fire
that grouts the cobbled back streets of my heart
the bright butterflies still being born
from the braided shadows of brambles
blossom become sentient
your heart
more scar than tissue now
you’re scarring the scars
my heart
more cave and cavity now
waiting for the collapse
my sight sand-blasted
I see deserts
stared at by the sun
for too long
oceans of slow glass
a sea of seals
diving into each other’s
molten bodies
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
bright
as a blackbirds beak
light stuck
between your teeth
eyelashes
on fire