I once sang like you.
Hard, redolent, like an unfolded dream.
I used to call sweet demagogues
from the birdcage and bricolage,
where I would hold
out my hand in displays of brave persuasion.
And whilst you ate,
I fed too.
I would dance, and still do,
in fire-loops, in hieroglyphic boots
– acrobatics of the mind, less the soul.
I sit at a distance away from where I once used to.
Swapped my head for the shed
and bled my heart until it fell to the grass.
I learnt to ignore you
and at times believed in my success
but all the time you were the
one where all worlds meet.
The pleasure of new sounds,
simple tasks of delicate discernment
as I searched for a new music, for you and in you.
Yet early in the morning
I am ripped open
by your causistry,
the beat of all beats,
a Loss that puts rest to anything
Who am I, but another daughter
sitting at the reprimand of another
to the amusement and folly of the crowd.