16174706_981106892025147_8125778488863439956_nIt was the bees.caught in walls, drunk sweet on fig nectar
humming beneath plaster, sounding like colliding voices
pieces of me calling out on repeat, tapestry in postponement
the last stitch incomplete
seeing her round the corner, raspberries breathing pink air
blue footed like china luminescent in spring water
her eyes hazelnuts over cream, bore into me
we grind by hand, our own language
discovered intimates beneath tables
swapping lace work, scuffing soles
you come on your almond knees, bold and fat cheeked
moss, ivy and peat through high headed daisies
breathing deep whistling distance
keep still, as hush of light rain mists
like sitting children gathering silver, grow vociferous
resting on clasped fingers
the turnover of keeping, your strengthening faith
furnishing with still grace, as no-one could contain
the descending stone of woman’s will
but you who held up the world
with one deft movement
a silhouette among gouache doves
rendered in raven, as lovely as permitted
sung by myth and fable, beyond this plain place
where such is the drift of pirouette dream
beholding slim waisted girls gathering fruit
staining their wet mouths in ripened eagerness