I still hear
          the split of your laugh

the sound of the half-way dead nee alive

      in the smallness
growing, dizzy on dark
          at the back of the old cinema
making homes for strays
and legends
      unravelling at the hems

our laces brambled tangles
and pockets
       bleeding an unpieced puzzle
on forgotten tarmac
       debris of our ghosts
turning walls in the day-lit hours
            until our echoes ring faint

and no-one remembers
      or the traces that we left.

Zelda Chappel