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daisy poems Poems

skydiving by moonlight

Mamma, how does the moon function?

I have never sky-dived, so will stand here

instead, on a moon-lit dais in Holyrood Park

in congregation with sweet-spiky gorse, asking

the question to my ancestors – they speak back

full-moon answers

in my own whispered voice…

if we weigh 21g less after death, most of that

will be the orange sparks he lit in my iris

fading into dark like a New Year firework – perhaps only then

I can dance the rhumba around him

with all the grace of the moon at night