First published in A Box of Sky, Integral, 2017

The sky is a box,
a box of secrets
its lid half-open
trinkets, love-words,
broken beads
spilling out
on the world below.

The box is round,
part washed-out pink,
mostly a clear blue
merging into amethyst
clouds feathering
the shattered lock like
a design in slip-wear

and always, always
secrets, rows of xxx's
on faded letters,
on lovers' lips,
on the softest skin
where thighs
meet body-parts.

A brisk wind
tears at the hinge
lid spiralling downwards,
every last secret
tumbling to catch
on treetops, on rooftops,
the sky ripped open -
just another empty box.