One Last Amendment to Constancy
I wanted to lay up
summer star charts
of your body’s moles and freckles
down in my pith,
year on vaulted year.
Keep yesterday open.
We can be alone together there.
half-way on this
what we were.
After the painting ‘Plummet’ by Anne Madden
The boy is just a gull shape now
in flames that seem to pale – tired
of seeing this coming, seeing it come? –
water, canvas-vast, that accepts anything;
close, darkened around his smoke,
and day-draped, waveless into the distance.
Salt – the punch.
He’s always falling
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