Double time

A girl cradles her sister, keeps her warm under her coat,
but the cloth is a kind of barrier and the girl peers over it.
She would run towards the arc of colours if she could,
if it wasn’t a world away, if her sister wasn’t such a knot
of cold music, if her hand wasn’t tight as a treble clef.

A butterfly clings to a girl, keeps still like a painting,
but its days are short and it feels the time is draining.
It would fly free towards the refracted light if the crows
weren’t so black, if the girls weren’t so lost and ragged,
if the accordion could only play itself in a different key.

A girl closes her eyes, keeps her back turned away,
but feels the village they have left behind burn like gold.
She would shout his name, the double rainbow boy,
if she hadn’t lost him, hadn’t felt him slowly slip away,
hadn’t bled for days like a song played out of tune.