Clues
A golden light thrusts aside dark shapes.
A hard breath, elusive light.
Cling to the grey protecting veil.
Lurid colours swim around.
A voice in the distance.
A stroke on the palm of my hand.
Is this how it will be?
Another breath, the light stronger.
I hear your voice again.
All the nothings fly away.
The light surrounds.
Golds, reds, crimson, love.
The grey left behind.
The veil torn.
I see you once again.
© Paul McCombie 2007