I don’t want to go
up into the loft without her there, you see.
What if my legs gave way on the ladder
or the past came to life and opened damp boxes
with fingers made from forgotten secrets.
I hear the roof creak
when she’s at work like a heart overstuffed
with love letters. I died
in a nightmare last night. But what is a nightmare
that doesn’t scare you – a dream?

© Carl Burkitt 2023