I'm a kite on a silver thread.
Daring lightning to strike me dead.
Harsh echoes of things you said
Banished me to a thinner space
With unholy ghosts of your bedroom face.
Hands cupped to my ears to place
The sound of circular breathing.
Matchbox cityscape below-
I watch lowry matchstick figures go.
Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence.