Of all the things he stole, what I miss most
is that old bracelet Ė no, its silver charms:
the guardian angel with her outstretched arms;
a house whose lifting roof reveals a ghost;
the oblong book that hides an oval locket;
a disc that spins, engraved both sides with lines
which donít make sense from either side alone
but spell love for a while after you flick it.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Helen Evans would be
pleased to hear them.