objectives

She didn't do it for love.
We were all strangers in
Her monochrome room '
Reflections under grey wings,
Guardians of shadows.

Heron like she'd unfold tales
Over closed lids and half woken
Minds. We'd dream and doodle
Through her endless cadences,
Her drawn out afternoons.

She beat the walls with syllables.
We were pulled, packaged and sewn
Onto the tarmac of her winter playground
Longing to connect
With the smallness of her day.

Sometimes we'd crack like vagrant
Seeds. Her intending hands would seize
Our mysteries. The syllables would
Stop abruptly. And the rain would fall¦

Slow. Red. Silent with attention to
The soft brain and open page.