Kit Kelen #39 - in memory of Dimitri Tsaloumas

one polished star and one star falling

same as it ever was

this day, this sun

weak signs of life

but honey gathering the hours

we follow through

buzzing alleys of timber

then the forest wakes

and birds take on

cloud, blue and bright

arcs lent from the magic

of knowing

not knowing

what’s next

one polished star

and one star falling

the mirror all hands to catch

hear the dogs whistling

night falls for the last time

and this is common

still hospital bright in the mind

there is a certain

late afternoon glow

forest reverting

to its many mansions

carved each from the golden light

the centuries have given

sleep is a leaning gully

sloping gold to shade

in the secret map of this life

then age confines me to this corner

anywhere in the world

where’s the lightswitch?

where’s the kettle?

these are my ashes

flesh from paper

I gather among words again

bloated with sky I’ll be

bone above

grey of low tide

winter in the sea’s dark churn

these are my aches

the moon long on its flea-bitten journey

bird of the drought who calls

'too late!'

the miles in the tank

each to own repose

or emperor

to his new clothes

let angels be

my punka-wallahs

one polished star

and one star falling