(By Gub, the 11th of February, 2013, London)
At six he clasps
The future
Ten fingers
Figuring facts,
Fictions,
Falsehoods.
He folds the world
In a palm that
Is warmed by strength
And the condensing
Vapour
Of youth.
There is comfort there
In his small hands
The fusion of ourselves
Through genes
And this newer
Being - himself,
Charmed.
His childhood
Fuses memories
Of
Molten
Gold
And Ingots cast
In flesh, will
Small fingers also one day hold,
Feathered in his own
Manly down.
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
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