The ash that screams into the night,
the lake that dries, the child amongst the rubble,
the heat, the fire, the lack of books,

Akademichna Street
 
is bombed-out flats, is
the hot-pink Sweet Bakery Café, is
straggly new-planted trees, is

Never shows up late to a single thing he’s invited to
Always brings the most thoughtful and carefully curated and perfect gift
Never shows up early and never once overstays his welcome
Always appears well groomed and clean and appropriately dressed

This is just a woman,
sticking her life back together
after years spent recovering.

What you are –
 
bodied light, a store of oil
 
a hive of warm blood

In the back of the taxi on my way to the hospital, 
thighs clenched together,
the driver asked me, 

Here — in the absolute zero of space — fireworks!
Look how the crucibles of creation, 
those million coloured fingers that stretch light years — 

We unlearn how it felt to touch
And resume our separate days in shirts and trousers,
Like hazmats against the sun and its longing,
The moon with its underbelly pulls.
 

Now a blanket is spread, offerings
of chutney and shin bones, 
 
a taper held to the fire
that heats the tar beneath our boats.