At Gaia House
I met my fear in the heavy sky
that hid the blue we knew was there,
and under the staggering oak tree
where I felt only this high.
In the owl’s call on the first night,
on the bed that was not mine,
and taking toast to the lounge
with the pots of red geraniums.
I met my fear, and then I lost her,
walking through the vegetable gardens.
Lifting my feet up and placing them down,
circling the cemetery of nuns.
I somehow, somewhere, lost my fear,
and then I lost this.
I lost this, slowly,
then overnight, I lost that.
I lost this, then that,
then him, and all of them.
I was walking slowly
on wet evening grass
barefoot alongside others
and I lost everything.
And drawing on the jacket of the breath,
I realised I was happy.
