Painting by Helen Galloway MacNicholl
Soft darkness flutters with your breathing,
Night sounds on the breeze
Curl like smoke tendrils through the open window.
My hand on the sheet, still as death,
A white bird, a gull lost at sea.
I would have the night as motionless,
As detached from time as a dead gull.
But I have no power to stop the course of the moon,
To hold back the dawn.
I listen to each tick tick tick,
The countdown of the hours
Until the morning comes,
And you will say goodbye.
Just have to add this song by Françoise Hardy: Partir quand-même. Get your hankies out.