A Lost Poem

The words were there – right there – a moment ago

dancing like a phrase of far-off music, teasing a synapse

before springing out of sight, tingling nerve endings,

leaving them to cool. I lose myself

tracing shapes in the fog on the kitchen window,

while droplets carve awkward roads, stop-motion,

towards the sill. The pattern sharpens and fades,

like the shifting shapes behind my eyelids,

or footage of the Northern lights:

a glimpse of the skies' uncounted treasures,

as they are wrapped in ghost-silk.

Pandora's Mercy

Everywhere all over the country
people are opening wardrobes,

rummaging in old boxes, or pulling
dusty files from cardboard sheaths,

not understanding the danger.
Think about it. What are you seeking

in there? Old photographs. Old clothes.
Knotty old chains to unpick and send to

'Cash for Gold'. Is that really it?
or are you looking for an answer

you must have forgotten, a lost
tool to bash your life back into shape?

They exist alright, I've seen one a dream.
A woman gave it to me in a cloudy desert,

told me to put it somewhere safe. She smiled,
teeth gleaming in the dim light.

I never look for it for long because
I remembered her name one day

while rooting in my Dad's attic; suffice to say
you'd know it. She gave me a mercy,

and I've hidden it. Until the day I really
need it. Then I'll open the right box

and a last light will blossom; illuminate me
before darkness snuffs me out.