…is yours alone

There is a darkening, doubting sky
the clouds speak a language of their own
like finely fashioned twisted driftwood
in the weeping darkness, in the fading light
softly flowing, a fragrant mist of falling moonlight
like coloured silk on flagstones spilling over faint tones of blue
a door opens to a stand of trees, the cool caress of a cautious wind
splintering the light through the leaves, through the silhouettes
first the silence, then a passing thought
images of you, a recollection slowly
regained by way of a silken thread
the unseen hand that stirs the velvet darkness
a touch that is at once both pain and something soft
a deeper peace than I have ever known
perhaps this will be the last time
we will breathe our dreams into each other
for they are delicate, feather light and fragile
like the ever changing hues of heaven
an endless drifting horizon veiled in shadows
I hold you in my thoughts where the roses bloom
where the rain falls in a quiet forest
and as the night floods in I stand in silence
letting it flow over me, the dream that you are
and with the breeze I let it pass
for the night is yours alone
© Ann Bagnall
2014