He was the
cascading gush, the big bang, a flower bursting crimson at her bedside,
corporeal lashes like lightening strikes, a hole cut from within.
Each day
began with the opening of windows, an assault of fresh air beneath sheets weary
with sweat. Her heart was a home and he was a pillow on which to rest her bones.
I suppose green
is the colour of loss. It is a bud after all. A sudden space to fill with other.
Shoots out of soil like birth. She is a universe being born, a girl kissing
with her mouth open. A bird. She is a flicked switch and a dancing flame at
once, electric and fire in the dark.
But if she
is to find herself in her lostness, she will need to keep swimming in circles.
