You always point out the other

World behind the clouds

As if you have been there.

When I sit in the library

Moaning to dead poets

And trying to remember

Not to forget next time

I imagine you in a tower

Stretching muscle

Fine-pointed limbs like

Branches aching with leaves,

And you reach further

Than could ever try.

Yesterday you finally

Caught the sun in your eyes.

But then it ran

And you ran after

Forgotten letters

Claiming the forest.

 

By Esme Garlake

 


Header image by Doris Cozma

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s