Written in blacks and whites and greys

You wrote me like a poem, a tracing

of water on a metal plate

a single blade of grass, subtly lacing

and weaving the breeze into a fete;

you wrote me like the plumes of dust devils

gently blur the horizons, spiked

lines that danced on the page, couldn’t keep still

and went off the edge as they liked;

you wiped me off too, like the savannahs

after rain, pockmarked with blossoms,

carry the sounds of slowly fading cars,

erase the gleam with clumsy thumbs.

You wrote me down and then you tore me up

flung me into the grass and into love.