I’m still aligned with spring though and do not want to let my blog wither so I’m offering you this, written a couple of months ago, and, I hasten to add, not biographical in any real sense.
Cosy for my heart
a sleeve. Two purl, two plain, a drip-feed of stitches.
No wings for you, no name, no song, just loop
passing through loop and the clicking of needles.
Some stitches cruelly ring a life: rib, seed and moss,
flame, sea foam, little shell. You fell away a tiny curl
of flesh, a blur of nerves and tissue. I fold my life
around the lack of you, this sealed threshold.
You’re a breath held. The mouth that would have kissed
and sung you lullabies and called your name has set.
Instead I drop a stitch and watch it slide its groove, unfurl
down rung by curly rung, unstrip its alphabet.
From there I spin a life, dressed in a poem’s raggedy lines,
this spider lace of letters.