by Heather Cadsby
I’m older than I was at your winter sunrise.
Old friend. Lost
in our badboy days. Hello.
Hello ten thousand sounds.
Beethoven is deaf. Turner has cataracts
and we sit in silence at this
Carrickfergus countdown to sea sunset.
A couple of monsters with poor love records.
No bridge over. Not quite yet.
Did you hear a lady laugh just then, he said.