A first draft, shared with We Write Poems.
When your balloon burst, caught
on a tiny soldier’s spear, you cried
across the tattered scrap as hard
as if it were the dog had died.
Much later, in the dark whilst sitting
you to sleep, I felt like crying too.
Some unaccommodated grief caught like
a morsel in the throat and everything
in thrall to suffocation for the time
it took for you to sigh and turn.
These seconds when like sudden beauty
grief is as pure and clear as falling water.