authentic

I am an image
carved in air
as windmill blades
will slice
the rhythms
of the breeze

and there are
turbines
in my lungs
that fashion
every breath
into language

when
we were small
we wondered at
the colour
of the wind

and if we could
shape our words
to the thickness
of atmospheres
around us

what if my words
are shaped to fit
perfectly
the angle
of your ear

the fine
cochlear hairs
bending
to the shuffle
of my breath

they say
everything is shaped
in waves
what if my voice
is the ocean

and closing in again
the air around me
like water mends
the wake
and still the ache
a gentle ringing
in my ear
like muscle memory

Kathryn Ross  12th April 2016


​Copyright Kathryn Ross 2016