... (XIII)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cS_i-zDdxg&ab_channel=WeArePalaceVEVO

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I

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She’d passed the day - let it pass

As the gently rushing fingertips

Of a cooling, springtide breeze:

Whisking into a psithurism

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Through the somber spaces

That'd been reaching

In amongst each other, in

Between the trees.

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II

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When longing takes its leave, departs

Beyond the tapping edges

And the swinging of the shutters,

Down the crooked shingles, and

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The corners of the eaves …

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It leaves a void, a vacuum, as it goes.

And the wind, in all its elusory

Incontainability, commemorated 

This passing, faintly, as it flowed.

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III

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She sat still

At her kitchen table -

Wrists across the tablecloth

And her eyes outside the window -

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While behind her, the crooked hands

Of an heirloom clock

Spun their clicking dials -

Cracking passing seconds like

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The turning of a lock.

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IV

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And when they held each other

At midnight, palm arresting palm,

She walked towards the coastline

To mourn, for what had gone:

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Toes, washing sand,

Soles, and softened stones,

Tide along the shoreline and

Salt-water, in her bones.

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