In secret arbours poetry unfolds,

rattling, winding snake in the grass

vibrant gold laminated landscapes glow

shifting the smoke to hold my breath

age is a collection of memories,

dust gathered on the mantlepiece

in the space that once held

your photograph

sitting on a slope is making me dizzy

wheelchairs, and relatives keeping photographs

the hill of life is hard to climb

but at the top I am ageless

broken clouds, broken houses,

broken homes, broken lives.