Who killed Cock Robin?
Where is the boy who looks after the sheep?
What’s in the cupboard?

In the poor doldrums of the day
The shuffling sails hung empty until John Field
Blew music toward them, and suddenly

What do I see? What do I wish to tell.
How haunting the shadow of a metal stair
Circling a tank is in the evening sun?

The echoes held him, hugged him, hurled him down,
And above all October seemed to shout:
‘You worried you with what it’s all about.

I sit in a body & think of a body, I picture
Burnens's hands, my words
make them move. I say. Plunge them, into the hive,

I kept it hidden, it was easy
to hide, behind my lingerie, a shoebox

above my boys' reach, swaddled alongside

in complete peace a body bares itself

even if it looks at you
without uneasiness or hate

A soft body fills itself with silence.

dry bread keeps
a taste of the legend