Kestrel

The state of missing someone, and being prey to your own thoughts, and wondering who is doing the chasing.

I remained awake,

Saved my sleep for another day

When I knew I would spend rest

Well and have some

Left over for exchange

Of your heat

Peacefully reposing

In the empty bed

We often shared

I chain-smoked

Outside amongst the ice and mist

Wrapping the streets in its cool grasp

And watched a kestrel,

Out of place,

Solemnly eat a pigeon

In the midst

Of greyed feathers

Scattered

Like dropped blossom

With every exhale,

I knew you rested

In another room,

A white room,

Where I needed time’s window,

An hour’s worth of holding

To yield your body to mine

In fervent grasp

We could pick up,

And go back to the trail

We left off

Where the clocks stopped enough

To take a breath

And pause…

The minutes between our mouths

In tight clasp

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Author:

Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

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