There’s a hint of something beautiful
beyond a thin wall of stinging pain;
a wisp, a crescent, the star
that’s hidden by the twisted light
of a liar’s moon.
A soft curve of your favourite colour
a touch to make you gasp and stiffen
a chink of excitement and silver hope,
a thin cord. A clean breath.
Something unseen and unhoped-for
but present in an unremembered dream
– an un-thing. Un-pressured.
A hint of something beautiful
just beyond the wall. Maybe.
