A weaving web, one tiny glove
the lines and stitches, the makings of
our tiny five-fingered glove
to cover from the biting cold
of nights alone.
Hands are never free unless they are held
I have you glued under my nails.
I carried life colourblind
with outstretched arms, words divine
stealing light from power lines
to lift us from the swelling cold
on nights alone.
Hands are never free unless they are held
our fingers trace the missing rails.
