no more windows

a year ago today it was snowing

ripples

The surface tension on the water in my bath
It makes me smile, it makes me laugh
I feel as if I’m not floating here at all
I'm just water curving round a ball

I want to take a call from Bettyhill
I hear they’re all floating still
They watch the Arctic sun
And boredom kisses every one
And yet they get so much done

A book of made-up flowers, outer-space flowers
A drawing of an alien house with cardboard towers
In Bettyhill a dolls house made of books and comics
The roof is a cover, an alien holding flowers

God of the boy who shouts
God of the girl that pouts
God of the insects and god of the stars
God of the family in their car

I want to draw a book of flowers
Not one would be the same
Every one unique and every one unnamed

If one was dead spikey, was ugly and cruel
Turn the page, that one’s not for you
And then a tiny flower that floats through the paper
Like a ripple on the surface of the water
That one is yours, if you want it

A flower for spring, a flower for summer
A flower for every bath you’ve ever had
And then another for every single laugh