Six O clock on murdered oak road. We walked in chimes and caws to our cotton sanctuary of broken clocks and vows to repair each other sewed from scarlet oval threads, woven with fingers clasped tight till they paled. Her mascara flowed. Tears looked like railings Like the ones at Hyde Park Where I kissed you In a current of leaves, and russet wind of a thousand spines which fell to the floor with us. She shook a snow globe at sunrise as she stroked my hair on her womb. I prayed right then he’d be born with her eyes But was only born in her tears that coldest day in June. Twelve lonely autumns passed, With thousands of twelve year olds. Ghosts which surround me as leaves as I lay alone weeping by our oak in Hyde Park shaking the snow globe we bought him.