Your brain by now should be adjusted to your skull.
The thought of a firefly could change that.
I’ve tried to say what’s between you and me
many times, and each time recall:
love is forgotten in the act.
The sky is quite low,
like the roof of a tent that was snowed on
quietly overnight. What is snow but rain
wearing bangles of ice.
There’s a cistern deep in the earth.
We’ve accumulated centuries, but it remains empty.
Sharks cruise shallow water more often now.
Shells light up when their shadows come over.
So much occurs, like war, like the thought
lobsters are the samurai of the sea.
It is hard to stand anywhere any more.
There is shifting under us, waves above.
We’re starting to drift, to fade into what goes unspoken.
It has clouds over it and a wound beneath.
Peter Yovu
Picture Rupert Loydell