We were all shocked when your eyebrows fell off.
You weren’t. You could feel it coming
beyond your roots.
You felt it in the blurred line between
where the sky starts and the ground stops.
It was a thousand knots tying themselves tighter.
It was the rumble of a never ending
dishwasher coughing up smoke.
It was the slow lane of a motorway to the moon,
a phone call, neatly stacked and organised boxes.
Your pillows were strips of plumped universe,
your hairs a thousand fallen stars.

© Carl Burkitt 2020