ayaladn

silence on

a stairwell

landing,

she said,

‘turn away’

at a door,

an attic oriel,

a crumble-

sill at dawn’s

lace stretcher

dry as dust

yet, tender air,

‘turn away’

& he did,

a tilted

flow o’er

cobble laid

alleyways,

to a

galleon

she may spell

chlorophyll,

bye & bye,

dressing in

a chitterling

over stew,

she may take

a punch

or two into

a living room

& kick a door

or stop it, &

she’ll never

drop it,

china cups

& saucers;

she’ll stand

at the window

when they’re

not watching

what shall

bee, as

you like it,

‘forage

numbers’

on the coast

of floers

& content

without

induce

a rest,

or how to

fit it in

empty

pocket

too big a

microscope

even ‘tho

there holes

& shovels

one night

for to

as well

& oasis

a full rest

conjunct

below herself,

old further

from his

prodigal

addresses

each stamp

as patience

& flexible,

an eyelash

the islands

as disguised

reveries

could bark

should wait