I feel liquid, unsteady on high waters.
A bout of vertigo, today of all days?

A memory of my grandmother washing dishes-
her hands moving over and under the current
of the running water, as I struggle to hold my
balance on the footstool next to her-
pours over me, this downcast London day.

In the shadows, a hidden place.
Is there a hand that steadies me?

Future memories trail behind the hound
that barks infamous words from my
flagrant past lives and shouts-
oh ye of little faith,why not dance
upon my washed up, sodden grave.