---

John Cornwall

Leavtaking

At night the moon replies to the wind with a blank
expression. She is not amused, there is something
missing. In the silver light I watch your smile die.
It is an ill omen, not given out of pleasure.
Soon the face shall lose each expression
and I shall be left as the wind is left

to murmur into the eye of the night.
I offer no persuasions, I have only honesty left.
The sound of my name lessens, rides
the breezes of the night air easy as birds
that learn to glide without motion.
It is empty, empty as despair.

And already your name has become a memory
taken to the back of the mind, somewhere
only years can recall and not exactly.
I am useless as a photograph or a star filled
sky that has no promise or future.
I am left, the room dark and unavoidable

as God who has learnt to whisper.
Where are the memories of youth,
the time that brought about fine
lives and golden attitudes?
They have gone, have long since gone.
And I am passed remembering.

The night dissolves into its shadows,
the morning a broken promise.
Each sound now has an aching
you can never forget nor take
from the black sky that covers it.
Only the shadows have repose.

Somewhere someone speaks of love.