Radio Four says its happened again,
and we cling together, maybe this time
someone, somewhere will listen.
We should tell each other everything,
our greatest achievements, the bridges
weve crossed, how we flow like rivers,
wet footsteps not telling where weve 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.

Alison Jones

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Alison Jones would be pleased to hear them.