You should not have had to learn
impermanence so young;

the gaunt, shape-shifting ways of loss,
the alphabet of pain.

I now hear you're about to leave
that airy red-brick seaside flat,

where gulls plane past the windows
as the first light rolls in from the east,

and all the rooms are klepsydras
replenished by the Bondi sun,

and Evie, who has just turned one,
runs clutching at its rays