Oh-oh, a new poem for Ghost Maps

My editor may kill me if I give this to her at this stage, but once again the bathtup voice written a poem that my conscious mind hasn't managed to write, even though it's been working on it. (And I have proof -- I talk about the germ of this poem here.)

It's possible this poem could go in to the book even at this late date, if a) I give it a while to cure and it still feels good, and b) there are an even number of poems in the section "Winter," where it ought to go (it's a layout thing) and c) I get the nerve to ask.

In the meantime, I'm so excited about it that I'm blogging in a towel. (Hi, Gary.) Consider it, I don't know, the Ghost Maps bonus track.

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Lullaby

you'll see wonderful things

catch step catch -- frost
bite hobbles him two toes
black. In better times

you might go home
for this, though
           there'd be
          some shame

He walks -- caught
in his head a snatch

of lullaby --

You'll see wonderful things
his memory sings

raisons and almonds