It’s dark now; it usually is
Except for that brief glimpse when illumination tears through,
and then it returns and it all seems to much more desolate than before.
Our time apart was agony: great sweeping stride times where we crossed each other’s paths so frequently though fleeting.
It was a balancing act that ceased only at the end of a long day when we lay crumpled in a messy heap with beautiful silence and companionship.
Lifetimes of night-times are all lost now.
For now, discarded I wait alone; a strengthening assault on my soul of separation.
A single shoe
I’m being tugged by the wind as it bustles around us
And plays with, and tussles, my hair
My feet are cold but they’re free
Walking the tide in the cool evening air
And our hands are warm
We’re holding on
Separation seems a malicious deceit
A concept that doesn’t feel real
Eyes seemed softened, wet from playful spray
And cheeks rosy from the exhausting smiles
That have become permanent
And I look behind
Just footprints in the sand
Being swept away by the silken folds of the sea’s skin
Living and breathing, ever reaching
Joining in with our dance
Blending our steps and our swirls
And we walk on
Making our own way
And we look back
And the tide still calls to us
The smoking moon had been torn away from the stars and the dim lights speckled an uneasy sky. It seemed frayed at the edges with dusty clouds steadily encroaching until it seemed a great blanket had been lowered and it hovered restlessly above the lake.
Ice crinkled beneath his boots as he made the first steps out to her but soon he was wading into cold water with his breath frosting before him and shivers wracking his thin frame. Beneath the film of liquid her eyes were dark and blind. He marvelled that she could not experience her own magic, not until freed from her would-be grave. He imagined it a sea of tears from which he could pluck her, wipe her tears away and watch a hesitant, shaky smile gradually re-emerge.
But she wasn’t a child. She was older than he was. She was submerged light in an abyss and he fancied the moon had settled into her skin once it had left the night sky barren and alone, ousted from its ancestral home.
His fingertips grazed the surface and delved deeper than expected until he found one cold hand and tugged gently until the figure began to rise steadily. Small bubbles erupted around her, racing to the surface after the first exhale.
She floated, and he pulled her away to the edges and glanced nervously into black eyes full of awareness, absorbing the night. She was stone, a perfect statue that judged him carefully before righting itself fully and abandoned him for the night. The lake reflected the curious twinkles that peeped back through the cloud’s net. Watching, and waiting.
The ripples toyed with strands of hair and they swam apart from her with a life of their own. She was still and silent but around her was a mane of fireworks exploding into vibrancy as the moon emerged to look down upon them: the sleeper and the dancer.
For he moved with the wind and his eyes were bright and alive, searching and yearning. The starlight was a great façade, an elaborate stage of spotlights guiding him through the night. The mirror was mostly unbroken but he tiptoed around its fraying edges and the breeze rustled his tangled hair, and his eyes came upon her.
The moonlight enveloped her still form and the beauty of that moment surpassed his terror for how could so wondrous a being cease to shine once the moon turned its gaze away, even in sorrow.