Stillness comes as last leaf drops
Though not for long
Cupboard bare like grievance aired
Empty thoughts, silence comes
Like jester and thief
Stolen precious time
Mock those who weep.

Do not wait for wind to change 
For your face remains asleep 
Clumsy hands and feet
Lose bits and pieces of me
Spill the drink over the one
Who tried to sell me to the street

I rise above
Beating sense into skins
Laid taut by grief
Smoothing tallow fashionably
Over fine lines and wrinkles of time 

Spare moments spent watching 
Antique shards and bottles 
Plucked from the bank of the Thames
Or the bottom of someone's yard
The hand once clutching it 
Long since retired
Now that old hand is mine