Can you hear sounds of Summer in the woods?
Neither can I. Hope slipped out the back door
whilst I stared at the morning's silver light
looking for the flash of the jay's colour
to lift me where the beech trees sway gently
and enjoy the warm embrace of grey clouds.
There was no click of the door latch, no bang
to echo through the homes of Europe,
only the shallow breath of loneliness
and the stale breath of lost encounters.
If I were to step out into the wind
I should not find him but shuffle my feet
through the outcasts of faithful living
and the squirming of neglected life,
until the sun sets and the darkness falls.
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