Thursday, November 1, 2007

Where The Tracks Used to Be

Ten thousand shades
of tender green
beside the Langley road

__remember when there was dancing
__and Bellinis and tealights

they would only lay
the flat clay roof
at the full of the moon

__then darkness
__with echoes remaining

of coal dust
on the stripped door

__straight out of the sauna
__we roll through new snow

the timeless
and hungry arms
of emptiness

__in her dreams she always slept
__in a different bed

he knew
all his wishes
would never come true

__white lilac is pompom
__and poodle and first communion

hand-made soap
wrapped in paisley
on the wicker platter

__if my love were jam
__it would be fig and ginger

moonseeds —
pine cones tumbling
out of the sky

__everyone has the same cold
__that goes then comes back

at death
she might
let go

__I imagine your favourite jumper —
__green cashmere, tudor-sleeved

nose to tail
the lurcher pup
wriggles free

__a mother skips with her child
__where the tracks used to be

wild daffodils —
smaller, softer
more golden

__at sunset
__all we caught was rain.

Linda France
Tim Foxall

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