Perched on the edge of the sky,
The distance stretches out and distorts.
A rich purple,
A deep navy blue,
The blackest expanse above.
My head is heavy with you.
How the scarlet shall effect.
Your constellations are reduced.
Can I still trace them with the tips of my fingers? Will I still know my way?
How will I get you to reveal those teeth?
Mirrored by beautiful white cliffs perhaps?
Moher or less.
Below the cities of men stretch out
Gold and glittering
Like an expanse of gold chains.
I would scoop up a few if I could.
Take them home to you.
But more chains is the last thing you need.
You have enough of your own making.
These next few days will go slow.
Of that I am sure.
Standing at the concrete wall
At the lookout spot at the top of the Conor Pass,
Your hair a mess of copper wires
Caught by the wind,
You remarked on the
Shadows of the clouds
Moving across the sky and
Blocking out the sunlight.
I like to think that you are the sunlight.
But does that make me the clouds?
Are we the wind?