Waking Silence

I wonder did you stir at six to hear the morning mist
Slip silently from the slumbering streets?
Or if you heard the noiseless spreading of the Swallow’s wings
Tumbling from the icy wire in search of warmer air?

I heard you as you tiptoed through my shivering dreams
In ghost-like slippers floating;
And like the mist's cool residue and Swallow’s after-breeze,
You brushed me as you passed

© David McLoughlin 2009