The town was painfully clean. Unbelled

cows swung heavy necks towards the hill.

A father wedged between rocks: half in,

half out of a fable. Around him a scurry

of prints. Fingers shrivelled with reaching.

Thirty years, and no-one shook hands

on a deal. The first young girl returned.

Some wouldn’t look. Her clothes a court

jester’s: velvet check, gold-seamed. Her

hair a puzzle. Her face, a pop-up book.