Something the bird takes

In the space between us
The word 'love' falls like
Cloth from a washing line
In memory dreams -
Undressable with sounds, the way
The Sun speaks no language
But its own.
Somewhere between warming
Wet garments on grass blankets
And burning through the substance
Of this world 
Is this feeling,
Flaring across the lens,
Ruining photographs -
It cannot be captured.
It breathes
Mind to mind -
Something the bird takes from 
The phone wire, the drying twine
And carries to the fire 
Stirring the blood under the skin of the sky
Before the night,
Every night,
Every night. 

LJ Ireton 2023