St Andrews

the plane took off two hours late, giving me extra space to fit my thoughts, 

squish them into my backpack with my scarf and passport and 

zip them in tight so they wouldn't spill out when the plane picked up its feet and 

skipped down the coast, knocking pennies from pockets and hands from holding

we flew east to west, so the sun followed us home. I wondered when it was 

that the light left you - at what moment did we steal the sun for our own 

and leave you in the dark with only a waxing gibous for company?

- two weeks ago the north sea was beckoning - sun tripped over its currents like blonde hair in a chance gust - we jumped off the pier, my hand 

locked in yours and trusted. 

I plugged my nose while we flew, afraid the blue would rush up when it caught me -

I sat next to the window with my seatbelt on, looking for jellyfish in the cumulous. 

I pushed time between us, stacking it into clouds to stretch across the atlantic 

and letting you fall into the shadow of that distance,

both of us trusting the sea wouldn't drop out from beneath us.