Pages were being written

Under a sky where no-one knew us, we knew ourselves
days faded and rushed into each other
dark secrets played out, flashing in and out of view
a picture of our moods

We were in the path of something wonderful
in the midst of fire and water, crying out in thirst
between deep longings and deep ecstasies
waiting for the darkest of the clouds to pass

Where risk gave shape to something shapeless
and to long seconds that spoke of eternal things
there was a quietness in those moments
the stillness of our resolve

We breathed ourselves into each other
and like a star within cloud, or like the moon
each night we would climb once again to the stars
as the nights stretched cautiously ahead

Sweet was the breath of that evening air
which seems now but vacant space
images of us recalled by way of silken thread
we knew then that pages were being written

Although the words were never spoken
and the moment had not yet arrived
we knew it would be a gentle loss
softly flickering against a moonless sky

© Ann Bagnall