Cancer and other space journeys. There is less of me than before. Pieces missing, thin strips of tape. I peel off carefully, a scar. We were so full of holiday plans,. Timetables, organising collections,. Meeting deadlines, rushing,. Running, shouting hurry, hurry. Now there is only the stillness. Of the rain against the window. But when you helped me so slowly,. And you looked at me.

Loss sleeps on the lawn, curls. On the wicker chair, creeps. Scatters a buttercup path,. White clematis drowse, droop. Silvers the patio with trails,. Published in Poetry Salzburg Review.