Winter

She is paper fragile;

So when the snow falls,
she sweeps and bends to his caress
As pale as the steel coloured page
Marked with the black eloquence of flight,

That swirls in momentary voice
And then fades,
like the word

Love.

I wrote this poem a few years ago and it remains one of my favourite. I was standing on the platform of a train station on a really dull, flat, grey day; the starlings were gathering and I was absolutely hypnotised by their beauty - as if they were almost taking part in a choreographed ballet piece. The way they formed and then broke apart against the blank sky evoked both thoughts of words written across a page and more abstractedly love. The way that lovers move almost silently and without consciousness in some from of dance of their own.

As they scattered out across the sky it was just like a heart dissipatining.