…comes back to me

Through the open window of my heart
I watch the moonlight fall
on the pages of a book long unread
I reach, as if to touch your memory
and the night is heavy with the scent of roses
their sweetness, clinging to my skin|
there are reflections of heaven in rainwater
snowflakes and stardust, on the mirror they fall
the tears of the night
a gust of wind, a peal of thunder
inside my mind, your voice whispers to me
speaks to me of what has never been
I seek the hue of the spark I am missing
but only silence comes back to me
like a pebble in the pond
slipping softly beneath the dark surface
I am remembering other windows
how they looked out on other days
in the season of stark trees, against azure skies
the image shimmers with vivid clarity
and cancels out all other shades
the hours build, one upon the other
but still the candle burns
dripping its wax upon the cold tiles
and the rain continues falling
© Ann Bagnall