Thin, translucent, frames hang in the mind
Forever slow
Like ghost ships in an unrelenting wind
The image fades like a a photograph
But the feeling remains
Like light from a sunless sky
Like unpolished treasure
Waiting to glisten without an admirer
Or unrealised dreams
In the soul of the insomniac sleeper
Every day further from me
Like tectonic plates on their age-long march
Lost in the foggy haze
Of busy Autumn days
Or your mind's own white-washed eye
Unrecognised by others
And clearest when you sleep
Where you live them again
Trying to linger like dew in summer
Or the moon hidden by cloudy nights
Warped only by your own time,
Dead love endures.