I thought of you, I think
The queerest sights here are the streets
Where normal crinkles around canals.
Things are small and precious not
From their what but where.
I saw this all and thought of you,
A poem you penned an age ago.
I carry shrapnel in me still, bleed
Out its light from time to time.
My wound has warped the metal round -
It’s not the world that you wrote on.
I misconstrued and birthed a daughter
Half and half and all herself.
Now she roams and makes graffiti
Tagging tunnelled waterways
That morph into another name,
Marking out your time on earth.
