Not Placed

Intricately worked face mask

beauty’s grotesquery / mist bangle

tear beads.

Fingers gently to lips, please

no speech listen

to the uncanny orchestra.  

Who would have dreamt

a miniature street

within a street?

Tiny figures

walking home

the vastness of shadows enclosing?

A spangled day

no sorrow in the world, discarded

bangle shall

you cut your hair short like Jean Seberg in À bout de souffle?

Who is dreaming

of? / caresses, sky a drift of day adrift-adrifting.

Snow comes in at our window

where you leant out to watch

its twirling descent

and left it just

ajar by accident. We snuggle closer while

someone out there slips and swears.

The room is already

full of snow and we have to stand on ladders

to kiss! Blackbirds hungrily

peck up sultanas.

There’s no wind

no motion, freeze frame shot.

Don’t ask me this.

How can I say?

Brrrrrrrr.

Overnight so many birds

have landed on the moon; it’s not full light yet,

the moon’s still in its place, their friends call on them to hurry back down home.

Miles away

the town

centre early 

train, early 
bus, ragged
and unwell.

Mouths slip from kissings.

The hard snow of that winter one

time another brief snowing, a sparkling crust,

mouths slide apart.

Winter flowering eyes.

The orchestra of glass harmonicas.