A storm black bag clouds
over the clotted mountains
zooing in/the wind
nitters & natters.
Apart from the lyric moment
when will it rain?
& you have wandered off beyond
my lantern become
a chisel mark
full of dust & slack steel
unhealed, unhealable
unstacking yourself
in another darkness:
The dim drops shatter.
Recall
the doctor’s machine
scooped it up to heaven
in a pair of new shoes
& our Shining Watcher
remains
true between here and there
calls us to breakfast, lunch, even dine
with unreasonable relatives
(less their umbrellas
river sloped, shoveled by the wind.
Will you return, knees
tucked beneath your chin
grown older, prettier, than the flower that we dreamed?
Will you come here for a moment?
Will you?
By Jesse Glass
illustration Rupert Loydell