tension hods the cable in place,
pulls it tight, concise, controlled.
wire wound around wire,
grasp wound around grip.
it's winter now, back home.
snow drifting across sidewalks,
plows scraping the streets,
everyone walks with their head down,
trying to get from one place to another,
making headway against the wind.
where did you go?
the last time i saw you
the earth was in bloom,
green grass, tiny yellow flowers,
fresh new leaves, unfurling on the branch.
sometimes i awake in the night,
stare at the ceiling,
afraid that i can't remember your face.
sometimes, in the middle of the day,
in the middle of something else,
i hear you call my name.
tensions hold us in place.
cables, seen, unseen.
always the things that separate us,
always the things that hold us together,
sometimes, when i reach out and take hold of the cable,
the same things.
[ from a phtograph by rae kennedy - blackbirdstudio.ca ]