A perfect picture painted across an empty space
a place you once knew well
The sky has become violet
and there is a slow drift of clouds
The taste of dreams upon your tongue
A sweet scent of jasmine, the flowering of your life
A rose floats at the water’s edge
A tear falls slowly and shatters the glass in the frame
Now an unquiet field of shadows
an unseen hand, a door opens, a last look
Floating colours, all the variations
There comes the sound of words that were never said
and the relentless pealing of the funeral bell
until only the echoes are left
© Ann Bagnall

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