When you left he came.
On water and air, at a distance
still and silent, alone
telling me bit by bit how it would be –
the hurt like water rippling – different every day
but the same shapes and colour
in the blue flow of me to you.
He raises his head high, lifting to fly
wings wide open. I watch his reflection
him there, me here, and you always, skin close.
Some days I can almost touch you.