I'm not quite sure what this is supposed to be, just playing around with some thoughts and things here!
The fog furnishes bare branches
with droplets like glass berries. Static
they do not tremble since
there is no breeze, no not even
a whisper from your lips.
A tree wrenched from the earth
is spilling across the walkway.
I gather sticks like thoughts
of you and toss them
into the nearest river.
The moon slides in then out of view.
A stutter of milk light soaks
the pavement for a moment
then eclipses, like hands clasped
in front my eyes.
A barge drifts up the Firth.
The pram to my left bears its sleeping cargo.
I’ve memorised your breathing:
a steady lilt, rising with dreams
of cups, cars, and the word ‘no’.
Through railing shadows I step.
Under a crescent moon
crossing the arc of night
a plane heads for the continent,
in my sleep I speak your tongue.