Linda King - There Are Shadows Behind Everything

in the fugitive’s house
small hands open to catch the rain
bodies coil into fetal position
kite strings unravel

all the black and white photographs
are what they believe in    and not
the consequences of this bleary-eyed
blood soaked earth

that they are no longer lonely
is a talent worth having
a small happiness
a future gone liquid

its radiant pattern
pitch and rhythm
going    going

gone