The tangerine days on milk crates have moved on.
The Richmond ladies with little trolleys are staying in.
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Between then and now
I swayed, and stalled.
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Yesterday was the colour of malachite.
There will be change, it seems.
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Amongst crocheted tear-drops, sake, patience and fire,
Character stood out, unabashed.
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Heathered superstitions whimper relentlessly.
Voices seen.
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If you'd only seen the matrix of meanings
In the yarn-led chase.
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Thinking of Cat Power's Sea of Love
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