…the aching voids are barely seen

In the hour of deepest shadows
I see the desert of my dreams
golden and flowering after rain
gorges alight with mystery
within their darkness

my memories echo from afar
in this imagined landscape
in the collected dust of decades
there is an eerie silence
and lightning quivers
from edge to edge

tiny flowers burst from the sand
flecked with the gold of the sun
and the lightning’s lurid glare
a speck of dust floats idly free
then hangs suspended in the light

for minutes in my imagination
I am standing close to you
in this inward mirror
touching on the night
my dream leads me forward
in front of me an empty sheet

but still the picture lingers
behind my eyes
all that made me need
rushing through the night
dying under empty skies
I cannot find my way back

the passages that I regret
sound softly, like a murmur
from the ceaseless motion of a sea
and underlying the shifting sands
days fade and rush into each other

the aching voids are barely seen
and with every passing second
it is melting, melting away
like a clear, running stream

© Ann Bagnall