The Impulse Visit

I turn trickster because the past is still here,
your forgetting you've forgotten responsible
for a way of un writing history until
the sickly epiphany draws a joyful no colour
all through the invisible in the lost visible.

As trickster I ask makeshift questions
that are their own answers & so
offer no relief from the inconvenience
of that inconvenient seeing
the worn rail against.

God was Here said the red red robin
to the black black crow -
God was here & graffitti is holy.

I stand in holey boots
on the river's edge
skipping the perfect stones you sent me
so sure someone else should be throwing them.

Ripples
& the sound of nothing less startling
than the song
drowning...


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