Much too sad, of course

A plane that cast a shadow on the clouds.

Where does it fall, I ask, in a cloudless, violet sky?

There’s comfort in that voiceless wondering why.

Why is she so quiet? they ask.

I count the strokes of letters in my mind,

Familiar, joined-up writing as a child.

Four for ‘me’, six for ‘too’.

It would be much too sad, of course, to say I’m blue.

It’s weird to be so quiet, they say.

I brace my bones for impact,

That same, curled up form as when a child.

One for ‘I’, eight for ‘can’t’.

But shadows find a way to fight the dark.