Fish me from the deep blue, make fire
once more in an aged skull. Hook out
those days of Jacks and white chalk
on pavements, where mum’s skin
was my home of safety. Plumb anything
left from my shoreline of hope now sands
sift fast through everyday, now that she’s
a ghost, dad’s a dream. Trawl my stupid
brain, let these shadows of nothingness
becalm endless tides of trying.
I know I should have kept a diary,
so many of you told me I should.