Silence is a presence in the pressing noise
my ears as unhearing as my eyes can see glass
of impending departure sealing sound
without
passport, boarding card or ticket, bag
and you, in conversation, never looking back
waiting behind your reflection in the glass.
Goodbyes, those precursors to greetings, yours
elsewhere, captured in silence, heart in flight
in decision than in joy, but its absence
like
the missing kiss and reassurance, bag in hand
and you, in your other world, spreading wings
waiting, beating, preparing for your flight.
Half-reflections, sun-caught fragments of my dress
glass-printed, unmoving as your body wheels
and anticipation silenced by the glass
recognisable
in your remembered scent and touch
as you walk and wait, embark and disappear
in the thunder, roar of flight, of lifting wheels.
Bright dots, navigation lights blinking in the sun
silence in the glass as they merge, are gone
are for walking, ticket to a car park
my journey
a returning, wheels to a home alone
I am fragments of light in silent glass
no longer waiting—reflecting how you’ve gone.
2012 © Andie Davidson
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