Abductions Fall Spinning
A New Years Poem
“When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.“ —Virginia Woolf
These abductions fall spinning on the pillow of a Sunday morning. Bright coffee in starchy mugs with a crust of honey climbs the handle. The butter tray rings like a windchime. A new year is born smiling. Drawing petals out of graves, spirits speak through your crystal ball. An old year dies inking itself, paralysed by the old wedding cake. White lilies melting on tongues. Hope leaks out bloody bath water.