just like before
I hear the wind
it unsettles me
at the bottom of the garden the trees are bending
I can’t see them - I hear them - screaming
3am - I’m on the edge of my bed. wide-awake - naked
head-in-hands - shutters open
the southern wind across my skin - I’m listening - hard.
it was a year ago when I spoke with you last -
I know you’ve gone -
but I don’t know why.
it was your choice -
this punishing loneliness.
just like before.
image; Art Johnstone. ‘The trees were screaming’. Dead tree. Australia 2010. Kings Canyon.