We were an unfinished painting
a canvas paused mid-thought
you were all bold strokes
reckless swaths of gold and fire
I was the quiet wash of dusk
for a time we balanced
but now our colours don’t rhyme
bleeding into my dreams
they stain everything I love
I mix new paints in secret
I sketch in charcoal and moonlight
without you telling me
what colour I should be
I let the dust have its way
with that remains of us
for there is art in the undoing
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 