Reflections on Joseph Mayer, at the Walker Art Gallery
The jeweller reckons up his treasures –
lets the words, proof of life,
slip to silver goblets.
From his window you watch the clock
gauge Lime Street station.
Departures trouble arrivals –
there’s an ache in each welcoming kiss.
Silence blooms through you
like a longed for nothing,
until his patter of words blurs
your gaze. In failing light
you’re brought to your knees,
become a darkness –
a bruise unpressed.