And then, before I could guess,
you had crawled back, silent, strong,
you were resilient, I’ll give you that.
First, a smudge, jet black, spreading,
smokey, to an ink stain, which unfurled, erupted
to a bloom of thick cloud, ill and dense.
The uncertainty in myself returned,
mind and body, and while I was glad
to have you gone, there was something beautiful
in your return, and how secret you’ve become,
like a rush of starlings, folding, enveloping
upon themselves hidden before a clean slate of night sky.