Genesis II

For Sadie May

sometimes slowly, the penumbra shifts

rattles its earth-rich breath and lifts

from here the bitter shroud is drawn

from cities burning stale at dawn.

bow, each sun-stripped rise of day

to her, the barest daemon, fold and pray

a girl apart, not goddess but

one who split a seal once shut

this one pried me from the dull

lustless tangles, the limbic lull

to trudge with her this fossil bed,

where happy others bury their heads.

but simply, we, keep time and gaze

through the temperate bloodless days

to this between us, warm and beating

feeds on promise till our next meeting

i would have once loved you past this

as a bleached blue seraph, marrowless

a boiled mirage of my dim vapours

a cardboard doll of ink and paper.

yet here begins the recovering

the raw upset, the surface sting

of woman meeting almost girl

where tongues of truth and pale fire curl.

today is space enough for two,

unlovely children, me and you.