Phantom

  Wind, tunnels tornadoeselectric storms caress the desert,silence is the best. Whispers disappearin the voice of every day,I can’t hear your words, I can’t hear themabove the noiseof normality. Sunday bells chime,you call my name acrosssky scrapers, empty beaches, oceans that go on for ever.  Tree turns to gold leafanother summer rises and fallsI am somewhere beyond light and surf. Waiting for the cold,from a cold seeping throughcenturies of bone. Shuffled from sanctuaryto sanctuary, defiled bycity street lights, not listening, and  I just don’t listen. Morning windowssticky with night sweat I turn to youand find empty space. Internet connectionslight waves, satellitesnone of these bring you nearer. Hidden behind facesempty railway stationssometimes the breeze brings your smell...........