Don't Think I Can Feel Love Any More

Oh, gentle sky,
embrace me with your tear'd arms,
wide grey,
and heavy with autumn comfort.
Arms of night, in day.

A ribbon of life, flows.
A knife from a heaven of desert air.
Swifts fly there, in remote scream.
Slicing the sun, a sycamore's dream.

Through my heart they sweep, sweep.
Fast, gone.
Lost, in air-water.
Fast they fly, swim
through my heart,
my heart, once was,
once was alive,
to die within.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.