Hard to remember always that we share a soul
You, I, the vicar who almost ran me over on his bicycle
The one who frowned before remembering.
Offered an ‘even vicars…’ kind of smile.
The one who might do a sermon on it
On patience at the weekend.
‘Even I’ perhaps he’ll start.
Ego speaks and soul separates
Into me. You.
My dog
The vicar.
On Sunday high up in his eyrie.
I’m wondering what remembering looks like:
Silent, infinite love-orgy
And what the password* for that party might be.

*PM me pls if u got it thx :)

Today my soul will not take flight
On flock of words to wheel and scatter
To make new shapes
Turn silver in the light
Today it stays down here sulky flat and dark as lead
It says it’s trapped between my body
And the earth
The thing is right now I can’t be bothered to get off it.
Maybe I’ll see how long I can keep it there.
Squashed.

Sorrow wants to know how we met and through whom and whether I’m actually entitled to know her.
‘You see’ she says in her softly voice
,
‘You don’t have a child who is dying
Your partner has not gone terminal
Your clitorus appears to be intact
And even the lump growing from your dog’s foot probably isn’t cancerous.
Furthermore’ she says skim-reading her notes,
‘You drive a car with the top down and eat a chocolate croissant whenever you feel like it. Even during Lent.
Well?’ She says looking over her glasses,
‘Have you anything to add?’
‘Probably not’ is the best I’ve got.
Sorrow looks at me. I look at Sorrow.
Even though my face is wet, it’s clear our meeting’s over.