page 163

Along the edges

My father was a tailor
knew the manufacture of lines

when to swoop and straight
the calculus of stitch.

My mother kept an inn
knew the bearded tastes of Men

and how to lift weight from the sky.
I remember songs light

as aluminium that I
arranged in scales

along the edges.
I remember swarthy dancers

wrapped in blue taffeta
large hands spinning me

in the pleasuring gloom
as Arctic explorers

must have felt
when they took off their furs.