TUESDAY 5
On the other
side, wrought iron gates open
on a rutted track.
WEDNESDAY 6
The robin on the
budding magnolia won’t
wait for photographs.
THURSDAY 7
The sun marks the shape
of me on the ground, with a
barcode of railings.
FRIDAY 8
On the bus platform,
an amalgamation of
soles trodden in rain.
SATURDAY 9
Prints of charcoal seas,
a bereaved mother, a corpse
fighting against death.
SUNDAY 10
Daffodils out, and
crocuses. Blackbird skitters,
close to Valentine’s.
MONDAY 11
Twigs chewed up by the
wind, disintegrating on
tarmac, in puddles.
Seventeen 