Everywhere

Threaded through

the rain-sown air

or the cut of sun

through the window.

Overheard

a hundred times

in passed

conversations.

Written in grass,

the clouds,

the shallow puddles

and high confluences.

Drawn in frost

on windscreens,

pouring through

open locks,

weighing heavy

in the deep,

cold lakes

of dark mornings.

Light bulbs

sing it,

and the whispers

of curtains

welcoming the day.

Cups of coffee,

new shirts,

Kandinsky,

Leftfield,

sandwiches,

the blue

night.

Your name.

You.