Tuesday 9 December 2014

Once More Missed




Goodbye is a wispy old thing

dissipating on the wind

like the dust of a demolition

or the fading of a memory.

Words don't come as they once did,

spinning threads to the future;

don't arrive with glossy sheen

or reassure, or fortify.

And when the dust settles

the wreckage remains

lying heavy, like an oil spill

over every shoot and leaf.

Perhaps my gift is silence

after the crash.


1 comment:

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