Week Twenty-Four/Twenty-Five

I thought I should do two weeks in one as I will be away from a laptop next week.

The Fall

The ground flies upwards,

A flame of copper spice.

Puddled stones and leaves

meet my falling knees.

 

The grate of a graze wets my eyes.

Empty trees are masked with fog.

The colours of the swing swirl

like the Catherine wheel you showed me.

 

Your vast hand grasps mine,

My frozen fingers pierce you.

The air is so sharp and my knee screams,

but this hand is safe and warm.