silver poplars shiver
with the echo of light
wind gathers in the trees
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
the horizon howled
snow swept the streets
you’re the last light of the year
the late light of the day
that touches the old fire
that still clings to the tips of the trees
in my haunted park
I like how the last of the light
lingers in the tree outside my window
clings to all its small leaves
clinging to the branches
stories to temper steel to
when the story falls silent
the folds folded
asleep inside the blade
storm in the earth
night bright
with the peeled back
bellies of leaves
begging for the blade
sparrows dream songs
within the walls
I sunbathed
in your shadow
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
lost
what I’ve not even
found
bells hold onto
all the peals struck
from the dark
of their bodies
a forever home for shadows
hung in the wind
that whips whispers
from their stillness
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
pirouette upon rusted blades
across scorched streets
dissolve into the spray
of their own sparks
rust and ash
pollen and snow