…the aching voids are barely seen

In the hour of deepest shadows
I see the desert of my dreams golden and flowering after rain
gorges alight with mystery within their darkness
my memories echo from afar in this imagined landscape
in the collected dust of decades there is an eerie silence
and lightning quivers from edge to edge
tiny flowers burst from the sand
flecked with the gold of the sun and the lightning’s lurid glare
a speck of dust floats idly free
then hangs suspended in the light
for minutes in my imagination, I am standing close to you
in this inward mirror, touching on the night
my dream leads me forward
in front of me an empty sheet
but still the picture lingers, behind my eyes
all that made me need, rushing through the night
dying under empty skies, I cannot find my way back
the passages that I regret, sound softly, like a murmur
from the ceaseless motion of a sea
and underlying the shifting sands
days fade and rush into each other
the aching voids are barely seen
and with every passing second
it is melting, melting away, like a clear, running stream
© Ann Bagnall