Your gone

My tentative care,
Is blown up high,
Like a dried up crustation
On washed sandpit sky.

I’m a zombie with a perm,
All pink ribbons and hair,
And all the trying has faded
Like a knowing mother’s stare

Your are an overwashed shirt,
Flopping, sopping, pegged inert 
As I sing out loudly,
into cold winter air.

Reaching down deep,
Is better left undone
As wheels keep turning,
even when deeds are undone.

But… look there!
See!

A little girl twirls,
Her eyes shiny marbles
Under shirly temple curls.