From the Gutter to the Stars

13th January 2017 | POETRY

We lie in three, behind the baby bunk
and away with the light,
for gentle song offloaded in tin themes
drafted upwards to the top-beam
by project whale, project octopus,
half-hand, half raised, points

to her wonderous awe at the painted shapes,
and challenging with syllogism, the stereoscopes,
but your magic is mine, is
one vista north, one west,
gently clenching the underearth and
eloping from the damp cheek

As we pass the desiccated woods,
three half-moons anoint us,
the jaws of open space devour
where the sun skillets the sky,
and Christ’s birthday draws
my placid self inward

My returning, vulturous self
licks clean the bones
and gently repositions the mirror,
together we can reminisce,
a rearview squint at a dull
and distant and rusted past

Instead, I place you there,
a smaller me of wide eyes
and arms raised.
I pick you up.
I squeeze you tight.
I kiss your eyes.