We can join them, but we cannot make them touch
What's in a touch anyway, if they are still able to gaze?
To gaze at the swallows in May's early days, diving against a blue sky
Transported to memories that have past, lived in like they would always last
Each twist of the wing a reminder of hands entwined like delicate silver rope
Threads weaved with care and caution ensuring a sturdy hold
On patterns of wind and light and days of tiny, intimate joys
Oh joyous mundanities! Cementing cracks on the exterior
With an upward glance at black feathered wings or a look at her brown eyes
If a picture can say a thousand words, his eyes fixed on hers hides no guise
Freedom is watching the fading circles fly upwards towards tomorrow
The light is all but gone yet my closed eyes hold yours in place
We will follow the swallows in devout silence above the stars
The moon drops its ladder of light to transverse the viaduct arc.