Grey sky races overhead,
the wind blows across the troubled clouds
to the barren hill
where I stand upon.
between my folded hands
and I get lost in the waves of thickened grey
where distance has unfurled its wings
As every shadow whispers your name
We soar apart,
whither the wind blows the silence further afield
Yet I see you still
when the lightning flashes across my sky,
you breathe the roaring storm
that once raced through my aching spine,
and swirled ’round my splintered rib.
I feel you still, clinging on by your fingertips.
Pic: ©Laura Makabresku