Sometimes I Can Hear Your Voice On the Breeze

A poem

James Deagle
Write Under the Moon
Jun 14, 2024


a blue statue of a man with his head in one hand- there is now around it as well
Photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash

Sometimes I can hear your voice on the breeze, blowing across fields of swaying forget-me-nots. (Distant schoolyard echoes, blood brother oaths, getting our stories straight before our separate ways home.)

Sometimes I can see you in graphite lines and dots, dreams finding their way through grade school hands, lines and dots pretending to be photographs. (Your ultimate masterpiece, however, would be years from then, dreams finding their way through your daughters, little girls’ eyes pretending to be your eyes.)

In loving memory of Colin Thomson (1971–1999)