unsent draft messages

As you turned south in the cold, my swifts lingered unknowing.
Acrobats of the sky, they looped and danced in the setting sun.
Not sensing the cool winds approaching, nor the distance you had flown.
All that remained were feathers, blown from an unfinished nest.
If my swifts landed for a moment, the question I would ask is; did they feel your warmth up high?
Did they understand the glow in your eyes?
Now in colder times, I question every raindrop if it ever touched your skin.
I clutch at the breeze and ask if it’s carried your voice.
My swifts flew so high, they forgot to look down.
Too proud to realise it was the wind that held them aloft.
The same wind on which you flew away
The same wind that whispered your goodbyes