Quilt

Tenderly,
we turn the patient,
watch its torn skin
seeping softness,
change its dressing,
keep it living
one more winter.

One Night

One night: two lorries.
Beasts asleep beneath
a sheltering bridge.

On my daughter's coming of age

We walked like lambs, blind to the wolves
that gathered at the mountain's shoulders;
trailed off, grew tired, turned silent;
climbed icy, black, boot-polished steps.

We clawed for certainty with frightened fingers.
You asked me where to go: I didn't know,
then something changed. The ground gave way,
and you moved on.