by Jayne Fenton Keane


Between cocktails, insomnia and jetlag
I wonder how to measure the distance

between us
in kites

and how to name all the clouds –
not by their classifications

cumulus, nimbus, cirrus, stratus
but by memories.

Touch me
like this

here              no
not like sin

not like threadbare
not like lick me raw

hold me
like this

like a damaged feast
a lost call

a storm in a cheek
like an answer

to a question
you didn’t dare ask.