How little we know of movements.
Sound fills my mood memory in colours.
Today, it is a blue-grey morning.
The distant sky will fall into my lap.
Shoulders slowly darken with rain.
My hair will smoulder in fine wisps, heat curling it dry once again.
The sun will come out.
My shadow will follow me as will the dogs, birds, children, adults and all their shadows.
I will walk on the sand, watch the moon eat the sea.
Watch the sea, swallow the moon.
Gulls overhead, will carry their painful cry.
Between all sound, the fragility of a full pause will still be missing.
I have been listening this whole summer.
Come autumn. Come winter. Come spring.
Its fleeting presence, is like a painful absence gnawing at my heart.
Today, I am this blue-grey morning, seeking its perfect, divine shape.