Sky and . . .
From up here, far above
I’d hoped for a sense of her
running
fingers across stuttering eyelids of regret
gasping ribbons of breath, stuck lips to teeth of
bald tires on suicide turns . . .
short fingernails finding purchase
only
in Faith.
Her heart keeping time, marking mine
hardly disturbing enmity between smooth pebbles and
the texture of his words on her exposed
sensibility
as to the way of distant love . . . and
she sighs. as a perfect fit tightens
with the brighter light of
passing.time.
But from up here,
her feet followed . . . in worn out flipflops
the way of his endearments
ruffled skirt playing about pretty calves
as she
sang out-of-tune of a blue and windy day
in chill mountain clarity
But then
she looked up at me
wearing earrings from the sky . . . in colours
to match her eyes . . .
as
she
threw back her head
a.n.d.
laughed
Copyright © Jill Martin | Year Posted 2008
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