The Human Genre Project


When there is substance, then there is scale
spanning from the atom to the era
- a fingernail full or the years quiet tale
we crave increments to bring Life nearer.

The length of a yawn, a moment, a while
Our shadow sliding on fields from a train.
Is this how we time the vanishing mile
between the halts and the starting again?

Or is it instead, a comb-full of hair,
formaldehyde photos of lawn sat teas,
Our parents lives fading with us not there
and a driftwood drawer of forgotten keys?

Each of our moments is born with its twin
we measure outside, whilst we live within.

Kevan Christmas