…becomes the last of the light

The long autumn nights
and seemingly endless winter hours, have now vanished
the cherry blossom days and the scent of wisteria
seem so very far away
the shadows of evening, shudder and tremble
like the pain, that fades and reappears
for fleeting seconds, upon my face
as the vesper, the evening star, becomes the last of the light
it arrives, it burns , it fades and returns, night after night
I believe in the vesper, more than I have ever believed
in anything thing, that ever claimed it would stay
I hold your letter in my trembling hands
and in the moonlight, over and over again
I slowly retrace the ink with my shaking fingers
the vain wandering of the trailing wind
ripples gently through the trees
and slowly leafs through the pages
as if to cast the words, now etched upon my soul
into the distant heavens
I still am ever haunted by my memories
when I think of you, a sweet sadness falls upon me
my eyes fill with tears as I recall your precious smile
I look to the sky, which once was ours
and this night, painted in evanescent hues of gold and silver
is like a glimpse of heaven, etched upon my aching soul
© Ann Bagnall