An Earth Without Countries

Aa900b696af4dd71f82b8947d660cd8dby Stephanie D Rogers09 Oct 2013

Angus stand heavy
with February longing.
I orbit but do not
turn
to meet their gaze.

From there to here,
the length of a finger
tip, the width of the
hollow
at the base of my throat;

your thumb on a pulse
that never was.

Wind whips and whistles
like an old cliché, wailing
truth that lies, stripped and
splayed, withered and
wizened, at the
end
of winter.

And all I know
is all I know.

That sun the colour of
saffron and sand, holds
always, holds only, the
promise
of sea.

That in the years before
you, those long, full, happy
years ahead, when you are
no longer torn, when there
are no longer
boundaries
to be kept or crossed,

there will be moments
(only a few)
when Indigo falls from
the West with a
scent
you almost remember.

But they will pass, these
moments, always pass,
until they cannot be called
Memory,
cannot be called even
Dream;

and you will walk whole
and boundless
and free.
And the blue in your
blood
will be the only,
the extant
trace
of me.

© sdrogers 10 february 2013