We live by the light of shadows: Absent figures cut their silhouettes Behind Act V curtains, Where paper dolls flirt In the muted hush Of a stayquiet breeze; Pockets full of posies – Hands linked in mind and material marking boundaries I never knew how to find.
(But Embankment was much sweeter when the busker sang that night).
The skies fly by as painted scenes, Fat nimbus accumulating cumulo-witnesses To our wretched lovelorn dreams; Where the mushroom-cloudy heads Of angel-haired teens, And the rest of us – Nebulous – Play the radioactive carbon-dating scene To the static white noise of past transmissions, Wishing the confetti of a thousand cuts Might be called Snow.
Paper dolls folded like a bad poker hand.
Let them go.
© Georgina Barley 2019