…they are so fragile

In the star sprinkled sky, familiar things cast no shadows
through the weeping of the rain
the moon, framed by an empty window
fragrance drifting on the breeze
worn down hills, whitened by moonlight
flicker faintly in the gloom
a slow sobbing wind, a barely burning lamp
echoes of unseen footsteps along a cracked autumn path
the trembling breath of time shakes the leaves
I hear the distant peeling of the old church-bell
the flame like you, has gone to rest and tears, they fall like rain
I turn to the past, with more longing than the blood already knows
such a silence lies between us
they are so fragile, the lies of the night
and I know, as darkness unfurls, in downward rivulets
that I have lost myself
© Ann Bagnall