ochre sky

I remember how you slept
with your head resting
on the tiny pillow I'd made
just for you,
filled with mustard seeds,
yielding to the softness
of your thoughts and dreams
for a new world
I may never live to see,

today, as I hear you speak
of this and that
and everything between,
your words flowing over and around
these thought-pebbles in my head,
I hear a song -
the sound of those mustard seeds
turning, cracking and sprouting
into an ochre sky.