marker ribbons of

unfinished books;

pantry of

half-filled cereal packets;

freezer of sliced bread,

each bleached face quite blank;

marmalade jar,

a few rinds still hidden, intact,

preserved in an amber resin;

a lost age

distilled

at the exact point

you left the world.

re-order your

cutlery drawer,

bring it back in line.

for you craved symmetry,

a line meeting a line,

rug edge against a skirting board,

so neat and purposeful,

the orderliness of ruthless logic –

young girl fresh in from grammar school

where they taught girls in lines,

by rote and by rule.

there are numerous clocks,

of course,

marking the steady rhythm of

those lengthy, sunset hours –

defiling and defying

the chaos of loss,

which I thought would

forever follow me about

like a pet mongrel …

… but that has passed now –

shock and awe

giving way to direction,

instruction,

otherworldly intuition.

one is everywhere and nowhere,

you laugh,

whatever you imagine it to be, it is exactly that

and I suspect you’ve

come to rehearse

your latest role:

playful,

mischievous,

partial,

part whole.

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