Pressed In The Heart

He sat us down, played to us records
that he loved, did this loudly though
no-one could hear him. It is either
sixty seconds or sixty years since
we last spoke; All forget, as we
tend to. Amongst friends, we declared
a world holiday: a marble statue alive,
dedicated, commands the garden.
As daughter, I sit on his knee;
he waits, perfectly still-practised.
Afterwards, I find you, run to you
as watcher at daybreak for the Sun King-
at the roadside where we stood
I laughed, childlike, took your hand:
knew it; uncorrupted like the flowers
we picked that morning in my sleep.

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