User Review( votes)
written by: Jenny Middleton
Despite dying and so bewildering
all space around us your trace follows close;
a powder trail through the minutiae of days,
rimming tea cups and drifting in bathrooms
as perfumed steam to giddy our memories.
Confounding locked days with the keys we keep;
collecting itself amongst the porcelain figures
still, still and twirling across the dressing table
that you polished to lake like reflections.
From the loose spool of old tapes your voice loops
clear into today, words newly significant,
festooned with feathers brushing, circling near,
echoing warm with shadows in the eaves
murmuring the past to our present, here.