weathered gentle
by a low summer rain,
clouds tangled white above his earth,
a land of creases, of ridges
and valleys filled with wood and ash-
his smile scattered the margins
of quiet lips,
slipped over a world of care
as we hovered
through kitchen table days
and his eyes held humour
hostage
while fingers made bullets from bread,
each flicked sideways
while he feigned innocence
and we surprise.
each cast to a role, a battle
shared,
little faces would squeal
as shells
tumbled down,
soon followed by our
walls.
Silver trophy winner
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