from Issue 77, Advent 2024
for Yousif M. Qasmiyeh
He sharper than the cutting edge
he angles handles makes tables
foursquare the most tableish tables
no-one else dare work so plainly
tables to hide beneath when roofs
fall in tables to seat dogs at
tables to – he’s not about breaks
the grain seems pleased in place glistens
from its listening square chiselled
as if by a sigh morning star
and evening slow comfortable
So when seamed with sleep his eyelids
illuminated from outside
as if in a house on fire
he listened plainly once received
the burning word exile he chose
without hesitation loving
as if there were a choice acted
on it with foursquare certainty
in truth in blood-red haste he rose
and woke his love