Afterwards

(for Daisy Boyd)

 

Post-hearted and regretted 

we find you already fallen

 

autumn always kills me

the trees let go silvering fierce

 

the show is on the ground 

the sky is upturned

 

London is no longer famous

the children are buzzing fingertips 

 

a paper bag of tears named Diana

ceremonial stone walls

 

cigarette end gasping a golden rope

an arrow of the past

 

I don’t know how many times we’ve moved house

to find space for dreaming

 

all of our old letters remain the downpour 

unable to disturb the living

 

Ophelia is in the wind somewhere on the coast 

leaving the sand to announce its suffering

 

the summer before comes back to haunt us

abandoned crows

 

Bunhill Fields undated

the remains of lovers

 

prepared like a porcelain dinner 

always promising and staggering.