What counts as a light

All those wasted mornings spent hating the birds
outside my window. All the years those small hatreds
add up to. Some days I almost believe the ocean is real,
that there really is all that fishing to be done.
And some days the sun just hits the buildings
all wrong. As usual the sky is a total mess
and you know the sea only gets worse the further down
you go. I am learning to say no longer with us.
I am learning to say took her own life.
But how can you take something you already have?
First of all: I guess it’s true what they say about sunsets –
look at that. Second of all: I guess it’s true what they say
makes a mother – that she does the things you
would be too afraid to do. She leads the way, but
underground. A diving bird. A soilstar.

Luke Allan’s next pamphlet of poems, Sweet Dreams, the Sea, will be published this winter

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