It is an early June night
The darkness has not long descended and soon the dawn will come round again
The air is calm and still
In this quietness I can hear the sounds of children and the talking of passing couples
A soft breeze blows and it rattles the blind to play an inconsistent rhythm
Although it’s mild, it’s not as warm as other Junes from times before
And in this stillness I think of you
The feel of your skin
The sound of your voice
And the space where once you lay