Alien Soil

face in the window, the profile 
both mine and yours, reminds 
me of my memory of you - 
reality I have for the lack 
of presence, the line 
both jaw and cheekbone, we 
are clones, twins of 
ourselves, siblings, of the 
same root stock grafted 
onto new lives that do not see 
small green shoots, ripe 
buddings that are our growing 
selves in the world, your 
hand at the other end of 
the coast, pulled through green 
seawater, the salt drips 
from your fingers and your 
eyes, cornflower blue, look 
back at mine in the window - 
the glass echo of you 
stares at me, your sister 
long-relinquished, the cut tie 
unbound by living on 
after death and separation, 
our umbilical spliced 
and unfeeding, leaves us 
grafted onto new wood, 
taking our sustenance 
from alien soil

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