Summer from my Bedside Window | By Katie-May Sayers

A rare cloud comes into view.

Birds swoop in and out of frame,

wings cutting through

a pollen-soaked breeze.

I crack open the window,

fingers tangling with air ripples,

fill my nose with tickles,

flood my lungs with fresh spring.

I breathe calm and deep,

until an incoming buzz

boops the glass with a bump,

a baffled blur of black-yellow fuzz.

I miss that feeling in the country,

of walking barefoot on grass,

where the day creeps slow

into a night light and crisp.

I want to lean out into the dark,

peel through watermarked glass,

and drink the inky ichor in drops,

that make the sky so blue and vast.

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Katie-May Sayers is a Creative Writing and English Literature Graduate that has previously been an editor for Pandora's Inbox.