The stiff awkwardness of formal gestures.
The sudden awareness of large hands made
tentative in half-completed gestures,
left to fall to the sides in spaces between
possibilities of touching and touched.
The realisation that words do not have
the eloquence of tears or silent communion.
The understanding of shared moments left
undeclared, even though distances remain,
we feel closer to knowing.
The hands made gestures towards touching
never really sure of the certainty of grip.
Again, we would like to see the world
on the outside of this moment just fall away.
Cold stone holds the notes suspended,
to fall like sunlight through stained glass.
Always so cold, as if to show and tell
of the distances we've all fallen and
there is nowhere else for us to go.
There is nothing here but dust, we let
it fall and walk away only knowing something
here has finished, only knowing how to walk away.
The gestures remain unmade, undone
and what steps are possible are slow
and, in some way, hesitant as if walking
away from here is walking away from
a former life forever, leaving it to memory.