A project in which I responded to Colin Potsig’s beautiful lockdown walk photographs with my poems (& vice versa).
Like a punch from behind,
a tooth breaking off at its bloody root
leaving you with a shocking black gap
like waking up at your own snore
gasping for air
the upending of the world
when you put your foot
on a step that isn’t there.
It’s alright to tell us this had been
foreseen for years
in plans, models, rehearsals
that’s not how we were struck,
that’s not what froze our core
like the siren of the alarm clock,
a white bomb glare.
So tell us again
about what always grows back
about slender shoots growing
from blasted stumps,
green fishing rods into the future,
tender rebuttals to the torn out page
that used to be tomorrow.
Here is destruction we can bear to look at,
here is hope we can borrow.