Your absence clings
not sharp like grief, but acetic
our longing aged in oak
and soured like wine
we were once
like water and stone
beautifully different
even though time
can wear away
the sharp edges
from deep rivers
our bitterness
became our downfall
the silence between us
only broken
by the ticking of the clock
whispering, ‘too late’
‘too late to save’
now our echoes
remain unanswered
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 