something in the turn
of his head seen from
a distance
in his eyes
before he speaks

catching
a sideways glimpse
of the winking out
even the stars
are mutable

before he said a word
I knew him, and do still
and always will
the way he raised his hand
as if to emphasise the point

the final stroke
of a church clock
echoing
things left
unspoken

conversations
lost in morning mist
but the unsaid things...
much older
than the hills

between the lines
something shimmers
like first light
on the pages
of an open book

©Alison Williams

Blithe Spirit Vol.14 No.1 March 2004

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