Radio Four says it’s happened again,
and we cling together, maybe this time
someone, somewhere will listen.
We should tell each other everything,
our greatest achievements, the bridges
we’ve crossed, how we flow like rivers,
wet footsteps not telling where we’ve been.
The sky is black and blue, one bleeding
into another; at these times we often remember
what we were doing, experiences earned in life,
like wings beating in an empty room,
against silent windows.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Alison Jones
would be pleased to hear them.