Foy Timms

The Indoor Winter

He disappears behind the unspent rubble of the day
and a dimmed window.
Fits his neck along a wooden panel
and waits without waiting.
He leans forward with his green eyes,
swerving past morningrise and the slow wolf patterns of his thoughts.
An indoor winter collects faces at the bar,
ignoring his soon-to-be father eyes.
The long brides take shape at the bottom of the glass,
across the aisles of his years.
The long brides linger and then retreat.
He stares like a stabbed man
at the casualties which falter against the loneliness of the snow.


Foy Timms is a poet and writer based in Reading, Berkshire. She also works as a Fundraiser in the Third Sector.