End of a day

I will not dream of the angelic whispers 

of your golden hair working the air

the valley love carves in my wounded spine

once a proud example of sturdy and good,
now shrivelled parcels of broken wood

If you go that way, I would dream of the day 
I would stand and pray for another way 

when we stayed in villages in the sky

when we drained fine Italian wines
and pretended we were spies

turning page

If you try again

do not forget the way

in which you found

all those summers played out 

with those traces in the air
so silent there,

dust defining all we felt
what held us in place

But if you try again
do not be taken down
if the ship can’t hold
many red ball gowns

If you remember me
there will be nothing we
have to say out loud
there is nothing now
just a memory cloud
that haunts and carries me
to the end of time
until the earth subsides

If you go that way
then you will go awry
there is nothing to be done
no parts to put back into place
nothing broken just an ugly face
to recall instead and
to cast its eye upon the
past I live in this raindrop
falling from the sky
now that you have passed

I can’t say when
there is nothing left to say
very little I am afraid
very little I can say
you are just an ache in the land
covering the day with
night and making nothing right
now that you have died
there is nothing to hide

But to turn the pages for
these fingers dried
fall into the sand
relics dessicated once dried

touched your mind
with gentle pause
and now there is nothing left
but he dancing doors

there is only ice
and the earth that dies
a thing in space
that no longer has form
or the sweeping grace of
orbit around the sun

the bursting sun
the last days of which
nobody is around to
talk about.