"it starts with an ending" - she said it brightly - "it's all for the best, you'll see -
it throws you together, in at the deep end, you know, camaraderie...".
i could not disagree. it was so early. it should have been such a little loss.
nothing tangible - not like a later one - or worse still, a baby; or a lad, or lass.

we went away. on holiday we got the hotelier to show us the empty room...
each month your body makes a nest - what went wrong with this ?
now and then, i'm surprised to find my eyeballs swimming like lost sperm;
i remember your womb wept tears of blood, trickling down your thighs.

i became a jeweller. diamonds, always diamonds.
the crystal structure tight and perfect - hence the hardness.
'cutting' wasn't cutting, but dissecting out the planes of cleavage
to reveal the faceless flatness of a facet flashing like old Pharos.

the doctor didn't know why the ball of cells failed to settle
in the right place. bodies are so messy, so obscure; so finite.
i start work at six each day. i cleave and clear away uncleanness
until all that's left is dust, in which i seek the missing light.

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