Sunday, 20 October 2019


The devil
is in the details though, you see,
the dove-tails, and the ways
you are
with me, locked together, like strange-cut keys, and turning,
as a puzzle -
a monkey tree;

tangled, entwined,
and holding vines – I am yours and you
are…mine and borrowed,
this, I know,
details…details etched in sand
beneath my toes, hidden with care
and warmed by sun,
washed by rain, those details come
again to haunt us,
time against time: ‘what’
and ‘when’, and I push them aside: three from ten blackbirds
baked in a pie -
they sing the truth of our star-bitten sky,

and it matters not,
the ‘if’ or ‘why’,
so long as I smile
and I look
in your eyes.


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