Black Tulips

I’ll write about all the losses: socks, loose

coins fallen behind soft-cushioned sofas,

shoes looped around lamp posts, laces dangling

like nooses, keys, coins, wallets, names and numbers

passports and purses, pens, phones, glasses, gloves.

Moya Pacey's Black Tulips is filled with subtly observed poems pushed into the service of a dark, and darkly humorous, sensibility.