by Elizabeth Trew
The storm in the sky turns to quiet.
The wind in the city subsides.
You are away from the hub overlooking the sea
with ships in the harbour, birds on the balcony.
We are beside your bed in the cool, green ward
calling to you – birds in the reeds of your sunken delta.
You open one blistered eye, the blue door of your chapel
before falling asleep.
my vivid sister dark-haired beauty
(I the fair one)
I place wild white lilies beside your head,
Richard brings you one scented rose.
We stroke your cave cheek and kiss your skin,
your breath rustles and stills
as you leave us your spectrum of dreams.