Husky voice cribs my troubling thought.
I turn with fear hard on heel at the far end
of an ancient lane.
I borrowed these footsteps, I reply
to the open side of a ploughed field where wires allow
random thoughts to teleport across the sky.
This is not your path. This was the thought in my head
this voice had entered and uncovered and stolen.
Stolen? It asked.
You’re right, I continued, I forgot your presence
in too many cites of crushing television cables. This is not my path-
it is ours to share.
I remember now, can see how truth befalls in the darkness
these recent weeks of stillness seem to be resetting
Husky voice returns to a tweet, but this time
it is a tweet that is sung in the trees.
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly