To the swallows

just out of your eyesight,

 

to the tears

arcing across the edge

of your lips,

 

to the painting

carrying forward a moment

at the edge of the frame

closing the moment,

 

to the book

beating on the glass

trapped in the past

blown out in the light

now heading home,

 

closing the ending

in the middle of the margin.

 

(1st poem from my upcoming third poetry book 'Over the Margin') 

(Lots of exclusive work here - 
https://graynicholls.substack.com/)

(My Second poetry book 'The Sound of Nothing' can be found here)
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sound-Nothing-Gray-Nicholls/dp/B0D5VGP29Y/ref=sr_1_1)