… by a butterfly’s wing

In the inward mirror I enter the dream
from shore to shore, in the farthest reaches
everywhere reveals the colours of spring
except the wind, which is beautiful in its dark, winter tones
from room to room in the vastness of this place
I hear a whispering, but the words
they fall away into the silence
like a breeze raised by a butterfly’s wing
it is familiar, the path of this dream
falling leaves descend like tears into the quiet pond
and in the distance I hear the footsteps, falling into beyond
between the light and the shade, between each breath
I recall it, recall that this is a journey that never ends
in the dream I reach for it
the candle flickers in the mirror, upon the canvas of my soul
and after all only the broken glass alone remains
© Ann Bagnall