Thursday, 19 December 2013

Absence a Presence

The way the air saturates,
flailing out of the mist,
grey into white, fog into sleet,
slush at my feet.

Face stings in the cold,
fresh to my touch,
hair soaked to my scalp,
brain freezing again.

Soaked to my knees.
but my parka is down,
and keeps the core warm.
My cocoon in the storm.

The waters rush like
a thousand whales breaching.
White foam in the night,
no seagulls, no screeching.

I feel your absence a presence
a comfort this wet that
collects at my boots,
keeps me sloshing around.

1 comment:

  1. Ohhhhh, Ron. I feel your words in my gut. A comfort this wet... oh, how I know this. Thank you!!