There’s something in the searching of
if an up rises, if an off is off
your face twitches at the thought
I was here in past perfects: I had been
I’d watched you anyway from this gap;
spreading, reconstitutor, lost
a schoolgirl fantasy arrested at the gates
wearing worry with pride, a message
flashes itself on my lens.
You pace, your crowd cheers
the same as they’d have done for anyone.
your words are poor, but betray your past
a poet now? equality?
let us believe that time is passing
and not just limbs flinching as
years hit walls – part of me still pities.