They don’t wave back:
the clay mushrooms, the porcelain bear,
the photos of names you can’t say yet.
When you look in the mirror you smile.
You swallow the lot through eyes
the size of a future. You don’t wonder
if his edges are rougher than before,
if his flesh deserves kindness,
if he realises what he’s got,
you just watch him wave
and you wave back.

© Carl Burkitt 2021