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 were the sunlight.
But does that make me the clouds?
Were we the wind?
Is now the shadows?
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 