Poem For Ma Who Liked Poetry

Ma, Leaping off the crown of a candle, A hot bead without hold or handle, Blobbed as us all on the bee-smell body of a star. Air, Shushing from the womb of her shell room, The leant lung's slow snore looping her loom, Muddled with the booze which bruised her peaceful as a pear. Hands, Holding normal knowings in knot-roots, Splaying through the spokes of new cahoots, All gusts must rust and turn to dust ~ as Felixstowe pebbles will wave to wax; fast towed, fed lights, we the festooned elixir of ocean-spanned sands.