another road

stopping, I unstooped at a little fence,

stared
through garden-air at our first property,
where our custom cricket square
has dissipated -

now there are flowers and I do not know their names

here, our once stadium,
here, my brother's tutelary bowling action,
a show for the wading giants of gods
breathing into spaces before their shrinking,
before logic

(the milk in my bones, overflown
and date-stamped, keeps)

there can be no edited ending,
I snip obsolete wires for a living,
undoing that believer,
gods blowing over
as rain-clouds do

cruelty continues without resemblance,
the old photograph is guest, party laughter

stooping and continuing the day,
sandals spit out orange dust,
freckles from a beachy promenade,
nostalgia is a skim-read, toilet literature,
so stooping and continuing the day,

i am good, godlessly,
evolution is love is me -
rhyme and piety are overrated