The Setting Of The Sun Poem by Diana van den Berg

Now, in self-restricted solitude
I choose my fading colours
from a dwindling palette of words
to smear their frailty silently
across the skies of scattered discontent
for my gaunt eyes only,

and softy,
I, slow-bandaged,
whisper to phantom shadows
moulded in past memories
in which you breathed
such life,

as the sun’s path
turns wildly painted skies
darkly into mournful dusk,

and, hungering for the rapture of your words
around my raw-edged soul,
I pull the secrets of the darkening night,
around my sorrowing shoulders
as a sad substitute song

for now I must hasten to learn
to disconnect from you,
you, my forest-breath,
my dragonfly whispers,
my gazelle-leap thoughts,
my mountain-stream,
my wraith,
my tomb.