Charon rising
The morning falls short of breaking;
the river lies silent and grey.
What’s neither boat, nor passenger
casts shades of widening ripples -
like birds move through the woods,
unseen, unchanging.
What’s neither boat, nor ferryman,
moves through these shadows of brittle dawn.
To hear the call and know that no-one’s there.
To hear this summons,
caught in these moments of change,
when all is soft and bound, and ready to surrender -
my love, these dreams, these colours
leaking through the grey of early light
will find me waiting, listening to shadows,
ready for your touch.