in the rain of dandelion seeds
drawing curtains in the wind
the lamp post was an eye
and i was the moon
because i could not catch
the tears and the orange
stood over her – like a headstone
and they were the shovelling:
how cruel are the lights?
that they pass you by
in winter’s sobs and midnight’s
zealous talons, but the winds
were your mother when she
covered your tears in her hands –
when it rained, you disappeared:
the lamp post was the eye
and i was the moon
because i did not catch
you when you flew onto
the floor without a father.
