Floating feathers land anywhere
they find themselves stranded
high up on shelves the whims of the wind
whisk you from your walk
The running into view the distressed woman found herself in space
floating like dust unable to move locked in the grip of winters cruelty
one of them stormed off and they stumbled into different trains
his to high barnet hers to deep shame she did not know where she was
in this garden of stealth this ribbon this belt this place of closed doors
She had properly lost her husband
he had her stuff maybe it was a fight?
not really the point
she was lost in the night
swallowed up in the sleeping suburbs
the underground quiet and a local absence of options
We helped her to a taxi
well they best they had to offer
in this unusually quiet calm street
in this ratted out fink of a street
you catch a feather in your cupped hands
and guide it to safety
or a small child in a storm
as it calls out into the wind
unsure where she is
nowhere to go except
forward
creeping ahead in the dark
afraid of the water
or a young bird
fresh from the nest
who now can no longer call it home
but whats out there makes no sense