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.