By Saoirse Pira
I didn’t come here to be healed,
but you dropped into the day like this—
green and ridiculous on that black gate
as if the city had coughed you up
choking on its own noise.
A careful step then, and there
you stayed, watching me with
that idiot eye — does it think I’m kind?
Then it’s all my luck really
or something in between, that snap
of the branch underfoot. Off then
you flew, and here I find myself
so out of the sky, with only that girl
and that home to which I turn—
with all that grey, that ridiculous green.
Featured Image – Toby Dossett