I am absent, as I have always been,
the reckless father
who spiralled out of orbit
before you were truly flesh.
I left you
a mess of genes,
a cross of dreams
and eyes
lovers will die to see their soul in.
How could you know
I wished to gift you something more?
If I were clay
I would re-make the years,
tear away the calendar nights
I wasn’t there,
sing you lullabies,
stroke your hair
till you’re safe asleep
and the shadows have melted away.
If I were clay
I would re-make the sun
and make it shine every day
so the flowers smelled
of blazing colour
and a sense of wonder
replaced the pain.
If I could, I would make
a map of wonders
and walk with you
to a different, amazing place
every day,
if I were made of clay.
