The Promise of Sunlight
I remember your promise -
how it coiled warm in my hand,
the shape of it: twined to spherical
and heavy as an egg.
It drove my tenderness upwards
in the unstoppable motion
of towards the sun, thrust
through the darkness of dirt,
squeezed along a narrow of light, and
needle threaded, back against brick,
where this landscape of tyrannies
might seem to be just another mountain.
But for the soothe of sought refuges -
the balm of air and yellow, unyielding god
of distant oaths and I return, inevitable,
year on year, lean here
in renewed anticipation, suspended
in the aspic of recollection.
And you will ask my name again
as if the world had lost it,
as if I am only known when I appear,
forgotten and unfamiliar
in the namelessness of absence.
Image is my own of some poppies I was pleased to see this morning growing, reminding me that pretty things can thrive even with the most inauspicious beginnings.