She arrives and assumes her usual station
this woman of no particular inclination
other than to fan the air with soft wings
She unpacks with precision and lays out her things
next to mine and for less than a week she just is
a tangible thread in my existence.
While loose am I in my expectations of her
that first stoop into her waters so sublime
divines the lines of firmament and earth.
And when it seems harlequined fish are in my grasp
then she vanishes like she never existed
within the dreamless time between my sheets.
Yet when I awake in a chasm, deep as a volcano
she is everywhere like small feathers in air
And I struggle to breathe.
Artwork Amy Rose Gibson
©Talia Hardy 2104