Inhabitant

I see a buoyant bead of blue glass,
cloud-washed with haze,
forest-pricked and ocean-windowed,
its lonely face lit in the tilt of light,
and tucked in by a dark blanket.

I hear mechanical breath,
its raggedness amplified in my halo,
and my thoughts, formed, unhindered;
the cries and the bombs did not break
the sky, but fell where they lay.

I feel the weight of insignificance
as I skim a pebble on an edgeless beach.
A speck of stardust, I will waft away, away…
the bare drift of skin on skin
diluting in the expansion of space.

I taste a colourless void,
a sterile surround where
my tongue sleeps and my lips frame emotion.
Silence hangs heavy in my mouth,
words unseasoned and suspended.

I smell memories: meadow grass, pliant and cool,
the deep tobacco of rain-soaked earth
and the sharp salt in the sea breeze,
pillows where you’ve slept
and woodsmoke in your hair.