Montague Fields
We
stood
in
a field bordered by skeletal trees.
They
shiver, grey bodies twisting in the
wind.
Orange tangerine sun hangs high
in
the sky. A reminder, of golden harvest
while
we stand amongst the beginnings
of
wild hay. It grows plainly and
stubbornly.
I once fell in love with a
photograph
of the ocean. Sky pressing
rolling
blue waters. So much depth, visible
on
the surface. People can vanish within
the
waves. In the field we only stand,
side-by-side.
Our hands do not touch.
The
sky feels distant here. Grey bleak horizon
is
veiled by the lonely trees. Only when wind
shifts
branches do we gaze towards that
hard
line in the distance.
The
world is untouchable.
