Out

In drips and drabs I pour the years out
spilled into boxes, draining out the door
7 years of happiness and heartbreak
asconce they pin me from the floor

I was a different man when first I came here
by different love and passion drove
and all the air I’ve gasped between
has fluttered skywards with the doves

We are things of clay the old words said
and sure enough to brick we’re bound
attached to things that cannot love us
and sow only dust upon the ground

A rock no longer lingering here
adrift I told her I would be
For we are feathers on the wind
a fish returning to the sea