© Christopher Raine


You see it in his eyes

in the dull cataracts left behind

when spirits withdrew

like winter shadows

in greyscale landscapes

you see it in his walk

and in the way clothing hangs

like wet laundry

soaked shoulders slumping

dripping heavy with weight

you see it when he smiles

and looks pleased to see you

he’s never been better

maybe he tells you

a self-deprecating joke

a hangman’s grin

beneath a stitched hood

you see it in every detail

when you stand there

before the mirror

brushing your teeth