I am spread wide, St Kevin crucified in one outstretched hand a robin’s empty clutch of blue and in the other, a single feather a tuft of down. My hatchlings gone my heart a bare tree, the birds hop through for company. In the pool of my eye, the mayfly splits to show a mayfly more beautiful clambering out of its own husk and the heads of birds bob, fix, bob, fix, in the gathering dusk.
