For reasons to do with the paper
unstamped, the wrong stamp,
for reasons to do with your skin,
the drawn lines across your forehead,
the tired sails of your eyelids,
your hands disposing
the waste of other sumptuous lives,
the palms cracked and stamped with
the hot water – Your hands –
when you took hold of mine quickly
and said goodbye, were too cold,
small, too cold, dry, no matter
how you smiled and bossed me around –
goodbye! As if it was your house,
that place, and you were showing me out.
http://www.poetrypf.co.uk/judithkazantzispage.shtml
