Paint

A quiet colour for a quiet room.
I have been looking at paint swatches:

Muted lilac.
Empty perfume bottle.
Musty breeze.
Old library.
Crushed tibia.
Twilight, with a hint.
Quintessential truth.
Lost keys, found.
Simmer gently.
Footsteps on the beach.
Foggy graveyard.
Faint drizzle.
Dried spittle.
Mysterious teal.
Week-old apple.
Post-argument frost.
Unfound fossil.
Book, left out in the sun.
Off milk.
No running.
Cobwebbed chandelier.
Furtive pygmy.
Moon.
On your knees in prayer.
Very almost.
Unfulfilled ambition.
Breakfast’s lukewarm tea.

Infinite void.

Silence

it’s quiet here
where peaceful lives
she says it’s
memories dear
where the leaves are
jealous as we
jump in the pile of trash bags

that used to hold string
and old metal cans
but now only the rustling is able to listen
to the forgotten trembling
of a year forgotten

Silence

This earth where your feet fell remembers you still.

These trees have cast aside their skin
and embraced the world's displacement with
their quivering arms, filling the gaps
of your absence with loosely locked limbs.

These paths veiled in shadow are wild
now; angry shoots drape old ways where
the forest overthrows cement in anguish
at the loss. The secret trail is 

hidden. Where we once worshipped the
weeds that decorated our meadow,
I mourn the ravaging of soil from
our holy ground, imprisoned by stone. 

These waters race and roar,
tumbling. This river writhes through
time to find you; failing, it hurls forwards
and throws itself upon the rocks.

These infinite stars once stapled
the dark, welcoming our defiance.
They glitter now, mocking the tangled
world despairing.

We track your absence in the silence
that has rolled in with the clouds
and settled like fog. It has infiltrated
our homes; suffocating.

No shadow of you remains, yet this earth
Where your feet once fell
Remembers you still.