The curtains breathe in pale September light Dust turns slowly in the afternoon A clock hums softly to itself As if it knows I’ll be leaving soon The garden leans against the rain Petals resting on the grass Footsteps fade along the lane Like something tender that could not last I keep your letters in a wooden drawer Tied with ribbon, fading blue The ink has thinned to quiet grey But every word is still of you Across the fields the skylark bends Into the hush of cooling air Nothing breaks and nothing mends We only linger there If I should walk beyond the hill Where evening folds the sky Will the light remember still The way we said goodbye The curtains breathe, the room grows dim A silver trace along the floor I close my eyes and let it in The day we were before
