Past Graves

If I could save the whales,

or the rainforests

or the bees

or

you,

I would choose you.

If I had to dig and dig and dig

past graves and tunnels and deep wishing wells

until I dug

you out of darkness

I would dig.

If I had to stay

at the end of the line

the phone squashed hot against my ear

until you were okay,

I would stay.

When your breath is caught,

between your heart and your thoughts

your eyes wide and staring,

my life stalls

and I wait

and I wait.

I birthed you with breath,

tiny

pink

squirming.

And by God with my breath

you will stay.

Can I paint the sky a different colour?

Will you concede the clouds to me?

One by one  stretched from their purchase

bundled and folded, tied tight with string,

secure in a basket.

With a brush as wide as your heart

and mine,

colours more complicit than a rainbow, seared

across the cloudless blue

until the memory of you

is hallucinatory sunshine,

iridescent rainbow.

Will you let me colour your sky? I will stay

anyway

next to you

with clouds and  breath held tight, a fishing net where

stars poke their shine through.