Between Easter and Whitsun
“I must have been on the wrong page!”
The wind blown flustering turning
moved the mark,
lost the sense.
This hill of abandonment
closing down all things
in wound and pain.
Your words of love and future,
those eyes
which gave us pictures of a kingdom
where love engulfs,
suddenly lifeless and broken.
Betrayed, we kiss other things,
seeking the smile that blessed our lips.
We wait.
Another wind,
another gusted turning of the page
refines the sense
and the breath returns
in tongues of fire.