…are somehow still bright and yellow

Night is falling softly, over the fields of shadows
drawing its black curtain, across the weary windows of the sky
beyond the hills, the last remnants of sunset have disappeared
like the unspoken words that we always meant to say
the moon is just a sliver tonight, a silver wound upon the darkness
and the stars are carelessly scattered, across the heavens
like handfuls of diamonds, left where they have fallen
I walk alone through the wet grass, listening to the silence
feeling the cool fingers of the wind, caressing my face
here, beneath the constellations, still burning in the dark
the dandelions we planted, are somehow still bright and yellow
forever undeterred by the arrival of darkness
their petals almost luminous under the moon
perhaps this is what love does, somewhere inside us
we keep small fragments of everything that we once loved
a whispered name, the fragrant scent of rain
a name quietly whispered, alone in the dark
you were once both my darkness and my light
after the shadows lengthened, our words became fewer
and the distance between us, seemed like forever
I tried to emulate the dandelions, fragile and stubbornly alive
but the night tried to break me, and so did time and distance
and the silence tried hardest of all, yet here I am
looking at these impossible flowers that should surely disappear
fading into the darkness, but somehow, they do not
their yellow, burns softly against the black earth
no need to be roses or anything more than what they are
they simply bloom, where nobody expects beauty
I imagine all the things, we thought would last forever
perhaps forever was never ours to promise
perhaps forever belongs only to stars, to oceans
to the endless turning of darkness into dawn
and dawn into darkness again
yet something always remains, a scent, a returning dream
a yellow flower beneath a midnight sky
a song suddenly remembered, after years of silence
and perhaps that is enough
©Ann Bagnall