The Sway of the Branch

you taught me

the colours of birdsong

how a blackbird

can sing the morning sky

bluer than a dunnock’s egg

~ ~ ~

I feel your smile

at the corners

of my mouth…

the sway of the branch

when the robin has flown


hours before you died

your heartbeat against my ear…

nothing is certain

when the mountains

gather mist


as if the storm

had never passed

thirty years later

cold rain at my window

and still you don’t return


at rest

the butterfly tilts its wings

against the breeze…

a subtle shift in the light

the way you brushed my hair


making my way

from the tangle of a dream…

is that your voice?

all at once the forest path

is strewn with spring flowers



In memory of my father:

Eric James Price

8/4/1930 – 12/1/1981


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