Your eyes are closed
as mine are open.
Your smooth unblemished lids
hold secrets no one can know.
When I blink you see me
standing behind you in
that upstairs bedroom as
we watch the sheep below
clustered for shearing.
They are gone now and
the big shed fades,
grey on the ground.
Your lids are still smooth
and I am still behind you.
(top: shutterstock.com; lower: victorianweb.org)
Narble Furt Lives 
This reminded me of The Thornbirds. 🙂
If Laura was Rachel Ward, I was Richard Chamberlain.
Reblogged this on writing in airplanes and commented:
A nice image …