Becoming Nightjar

What I thought was empty
the dark, and you scything

through it, shows me is full –
so full everything’s spilling over

the sides; my feet wet
from the puddles on the path.

When you’re not there I am
all listening, leaning into warm

air, until you are – rolling
your rs and clicking your heels,

Spaniard of the skies; my head
a whirr of moths and beetles.

How the world has room for you
and trees and in its other hand

so many dull redundancies is hard
to measure; my chest aches

so, in the gloaming, I can’t find
my or your or our edges.

Where you are, between dusk
and dawn, earth and air, home,

far, is a feathered place to pour
myself into, hitch a ride on your

churring call, see who I am
if I open my arms like wings.

Posted: Sun 2 Dec, 2018