The Night clock Mirror

Free Verse

By Zak Bentley via Pexels

If only the cliffs already knew
everything I thought to tell you;

but then we would not
be here, crunching gravel,
watching the fog rattle
to the hills below and off the ledge.

Where the light dips, I think of noon
and backlit smog, the comet blue
of the sky
in the ankle you bruised
on the juniper
roots

when we were young
and running,
as though this horizon
was not enough.

At such height, with certainty
I can say these winds
rarely deviate
from a brush of cold,
but you would have sprinted still
to reach for those bluebell berries,
swaying
and out of bloom.

I roll a stone across
my knuckles, watch it
arc and crumble with a
“Close enough,”
that roughened pebble
splitting clouds,