Greg Billingham

VISITOR

 

She arrives unannounced

with darkness

leaking out of her

becoming homeless, now,

unmasked.

 

Silver where the sky

is cut in two

below the stars

in that place where the forest

meets the front side

of evening.

 

To remember is

to hold sand

sifting through my fingers.

 

In the dark we learn what is

not our own.

Greg Billingham

LIKE MIRO

 

Your colors do not wonder

the way space

destroys itself with a confusion of birds

trailing their painted white wings

on the roads that connect

a loose atlas of the stars.

 

             the lines of her face towards the sun

are crazed and begging,

stunned with sleep,

exploding with space

...and falling down

    always

like the sky into the sky

in the disentangling spring- there is

    something I have longed to know

having slept

beneath the rain