Little notes

Nick draws her brother.

In the enormous eyes

are pictures

of people and flowers.

This wood then, its grain

recorded itself growing.

And these stones of the cathedral,

what do they record?

Oh the small agonies,

men and women in time –

dancing, dancing, bread

and a short life.

The moon’s a round cry.

Take a good look

before it’s covered in moss.

Nick says the moon is the moon.

She draws her mother,

one breast then the other.

Draw me the sounds

of her feet, of her breathing.