You know her thoughts in haze surround,
unencumbered, laid out scene;
for why float loose-held floristry,
past memory, behind her day,
not focus of prospective way?
The merest moment in her glide,
a feint slide swing as hint of sad,
the skein maybe of spider’s web,
fragility of night before.
Seen, maybe, hun-bun in the dance
but dawn brought re-evaluate,
a wait to shoulders in bare light,
diaphanous, a through-see thought,
now hemmed by actual circumstance.
Smooth flesh held in by creases, pleats,
speckled foxing of her dreams;
easy sway now gathered in,
was she a puppet pulled by strings?
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, UK, from ministry in the Methodist Church, with Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, most recently The Sweetycat Press, The Parliament Literary Magazine, Poetry Potion, Grand Little Things, The Poet Magazine.