For practice
a child soldier
chases stray balloons across a field.
He jumps across no man’s land
knifes only the blue ones.
The woman who stepped into my life
steps out.
The washing has never left the clothes-line.
A taut familiarity
grips this place
and like birthday candles
this news
flickers briefly on and off.
The boy has drawn a circle around us
while he plays.