Ten years passed like the pith of a dream
that sits on my tongue at waking.
Like a strand that drifts
on the sea’s white lips.

We stopped up my uncle’s ashes
in a whiskey bottle, floated it to sea,
watched it tremble with light.
I am surprised by the day,
I get drunk and I hold my belly.
The sun has our blood on its hands
having given birth to us.
I will sit with the moon
until I am ‘glad and dead’
as a poet said.