…whispers your name

This winter night
has left a trace
upon my skin
the touch
of long familiar dreams
we have crossed
the threshold
and music drifts in
on the moonlight

my heart is released
to the heavens
and belongs
to no-one else
but now we must turn
from each other
towards
the beckoning door

the ghost
of your touch
upon my shoulder
lingers
I awaken alone
listening to the hours
slip away

grey mourning skies
magnify my pain
somewhere
the earth
whispers your name
and a day
must always end now
with the brush stroke
of your smile
© Ann Bagnall