DISSOLVING

He has come home tonight
but he does not belong.
 

nobody answers his hammering,
his key doesn’t fit the lock.
 

his face curdles against the glass,
but his mother, curtain clenched
 

in her hand, looks through him.
his voice does not reach her.
 

they have sat down at the table.
the smell of their food taunts
 

through the letter box. He squints
into a bright envelope of light. Moss
 

is spreading on his skin, and in the night
drizzle his edges are dissolving.

 

Andrew Rudd