It’s the emptiness really
The heaviness
Of a heart going down

Down
To the depths
Of the other sad ships
The bone yard bound

It’s a desolate street
And the ghost town
Sound
Of its hollow beat

It’s the breathing that’s rough
The ragged air
Of feather
And beak

The restless hands
The concrete feet

The bereft wing
Of a nest-less thing

It’s the leaving





Sara Mathews     May 2016