Vigil

Sitting by the fire, memories turn to ash.
He wakes with a start,
knocks over the brandy glass;
his head turns to the window,
he thought she heard a knock.
It was only the ticking of the clock.

A lightbulb coughs and splutters,
he thought he heard her laugh;
creakings of the floorboards, murmurs of the past.
He switches on the light,
to blot his painful heart.
But his thoughts are only shadowed by the dark.

In burning all her letters,
he thought he'd put away
his abandonment of reason,
this enduring day to day.
He'd turned his back to questions,
he'd turned his face from stares,
and turned toward oblivion
of all that wasn't there.

But her voice, it still awoke him,
in the silence of the night.
Awakening the nightmare
of a wrong that wasn't right.
He turned toward the bedroom,
he thought he heard her sigh;
But it was only the milk float going by.