Each of us holds a corner.
Can barely look the others in the eye.
Flap-flapping of unfolding fabric.
Summer wind finds voice in this white cotton,
disturbs the air: we pull it taut,
beneath the failing sky.
Our soft-toed shuffling deafening in the silence,
we brace ourselves for the coming squall.
A giant handkerchief. Collects our tears.
A hint of rosemary shrouded in the weave.
We look skywards as a speck appears.
Prepare to catch you as you fall.
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