it’s an ache

to fill this silence with the crows
to pull their blackness
when they fly overhead
and to hear them flutter
watching some of their feathers fall
but then

the vines wrap themselves around my legs
tightening
I could hear them clench

the crows have gone to a faraway tree

there’s more of them
than the leaves

I look down
the vines have held me
all this time

the ache is an empty glass

I’m the air inside

©Malintha Perera 2015

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