Inhabitant

 

I see a buoyant bead of blue glass,

cloud-washed with haze,

forest-pricked and ocean-windowed,

its lonely face lit in the tilt of light,

and tucked in by a dark blanket.

 

I hear mechanical breath,

its raggedness amplified in my halo,

and my thoughts, formed, unhindered;

the cries and the bombs did not break

the sky, but fell where they lay.

 

I feel the weight of insignificance

as I skim a pebble on an edgeless beach.

A speck of stardust, I will waft away, away…

the bare drift of skin on skin

diluting in the expansion of space.

 

I taste a colourless void,

a sterile surround where

my tongue sleeps and my lips frame emotion.

Silence hangs heavy in my mouth,

words unseasoned and suspended.

 

I smell memories: meadow grass, pliant and cool,

the deep tobacco of rain-soaked earth

and the sharp salt in the sea breeze,

pillows where you’ve slept

and woodsmoke in your hair.