The Summer Of Silences

I stood still and watched the sun drip

across a candy-coloured skyline and

melt into a puddle on the pavement.

Clouds hung suspended in the air like

wavering pegs on a washing line

anticipating, frozen, a ghost trapped

between two sides. Propelled into

motion, the blanket of fog descends

and suffocates. Wraps itself around

the earth’s neck and breathes. 

Squeezing its victim into submission,

this is the kiss before the bite.

Sometimes I am forced to remember.

In the transient passing of nature: a

wisp of smoke, the crunch of gravel,

the flicker of a firefly. I once thought

I saw a shadow there. In silent screams

the moon pulsates and I find myself catching

honey between the cracks, scooping handfuls into

my mouth for there is fear of forgetting to taste.

I will watch the hourglass until the sand begins to

flow backwards. It never does but, darling, we have

waded in too deep to turn back now. It is only July, 

I remind myself. Flowers still have time to bloom;

I am just a negative waiting to develop.

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