Morgan Upridge Thompson
If I ever walked on fields they smelled like you.
A further dream to lie on grass and eat
and wonder if you sniffed a strand of hair aired
out in the summer sun like a sheet
of cool cotton, spun by a human hand.
It's thirty years now since I heard your voice
cooled by the distance that fed our children.
I will hear you again, my love
when I retrieve you in the cold sweat