You skirt the rim
Of yet
another dusk;
You watch
the russet heavens bleed, swirl
In a riot
of red and orange,
And embrace
your universe.
A moment,
an hour, until time turns indigo,
And the
sky bursts into a million pieces
Of
shimmering shards.
The wind
quivers,
With the
false promise
Of absent
showers -
The kind
that brings
Drum rolls
That echo
in your chest,
In
imitation of a long forgotten song
Whose words
are lost,
Yet the hum
remains
On your
lips;
Like the
sound of his laughter
Just the
sound, that’s all,
As you
begin to lose the little lines
Around his
mouth:
They
disappear
Every time
you close your eyes,
Fade a
little
As you draw
your next breath...
Open the
fist around your heart,
Your
fingers won’t keep it together;
Let it
break,
Let it
breathe,
Let it
heal.
If he is your hiraeth,
You’ll
never find home.
National Poetry Month, Day #1.
