My editor may kill me if I give this to her at this stage, but once again the bathtup voice written a poem that my conscious mind hasn't managed to write, even though it's been working on it. (And I have proof -- I talk about the germ of this poem here.)
It's possible this poem could go in to the book even at this late date, if a) I give it a while to cure and it still feels good, and b) there are an even number of poems in the section "Winter," where it ought to go (it's a layout thing) and c) I get the nerve to ask.
In the meantime, I'm so excited about it that I'm blogging in a towel. (Hi, Gary.) Consider it, I don't know, the Ghost Maps bonus track.
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Lullaby
you'll see wonderful things
catch step catch -- frost
bite hobbles him two toes
black. In better times
you might go home
for this, though
there'd be
some shame
He walks -- caught
in his head a snatch
of lullaby --
You'll see wonderful things
his memory sings
raisons and almonds
