It must
be years since we lost him,
but every now and then I still see him.
I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye,
a black shape curled on a chair, on the floor,
most often in the hall.
And in
my mind something fires
and before I can stop it I am overjoyed
to see him. Of course as this happens,
sometimes before it happens,
buttons catch – I see – it's
a cardigan. It's a malfunction in that
fond bit of my brain.
I was
given thin lenses
in a thin frame,
so I would see cardigans right,
as bundles of wool and air posed
by chance like cats.
And though
there was a gap at either side
between the lenses and corners of my eyes
I never took them back.
