It was an equinox-
A mourning
I stroked the shell of a horse chestnut seed
With my thumb
And crows cawed under
Grey clouds neon -
Causing the Sun to tumble out
As if confused from sleep,
Burning on instinct -
Unsure who had summoned,
But eager to answer.
And even with my face to the fire,
Remembering,
A cold future snaked along my skin -
Because all is in-between
Isn't it?
Ever moving -
We long for one star or another,
With reverie or inertia,
Lacking the steadiness of birdsong,
Of singing whatever the sky.
A mourning
I stroked the shell of a horse chestnut seed
With my thumb
And crows cawed under
Grey clouds neon -
Causing the Sun to tumble out
As if confused from sleep,
Burning on instinct -
Unsure who had summoned,
But eager to answer.
And even with my face to the fire,
Remembering,
A cold future snaked along my skin -
Because all is in-between
Isn't it?
Ever moving -
We long for one star or another,
With reverie or inertia,
Lacking the steadiness of birdsong,
Of singing whatever the sky.
LJ Ireton 2023
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