Just a poem for today.
Do the dead ever remember their birthdays, I wonder?
Does the sleep and the darkness surcease for a moment
To reveal a candle stuck anonymously in the pink white brown
Icing of a one two three layered cake on the perfect table
At the mouth of the cave? It must be so, for
Some days seem to revel in their sadness, cheering over
The frozen sun, the late buses and the broken keyrings
lost on the street.
I thought I saw your face for a moment today
In a stranger’s face – was it you, celebrating –