Those who see you
holding up the city’s beauty,
a jade torch in your hand.
Talk of the goddess
in night time dreams,
sleeping above their soul.
But I see a second skin,
peeling in stale sunlight.
Coloured by a petrol moon,
and rose shift shadows.
You said “Is this all?”
I turned a course, long ago
Calling to you, “fly”……
But there was no more face.
Only funeral money,
and people trying to make sense
of the rainy season.