I can’t begin to count the times I feel
your shadow in between me and the sun,
shaped and adjusted minutely to shield
me from the scorching midday explosion
when the heat haze shimmers on asphalt and steel -
a small bubble of coolness, just a smidgeon,
though I can’t spot anything in the distance.
I feel your hands braiding my childhood hair;
on my forehead, soothing away life’s migraine.
I hear you call my name, though no-one’s there
when I turn - a passing stranger, or the rain
or just an inexplicable rush of air.
Our paths will never cross again on this plane.
But knowing that makes hardly any difference.