The Garden In Pegwell Bay Poem by Sylvaine De Buyst

In the haze of the bonfire,
in the smell of the sea
caught in the willow boughs...
You looked to me, vague
in the summer twilight,
pale as the shadow of a fainted prince

You were a dream of smoke and sand,
a bird resting on the enchanting cliff,
a decaying rose,
a whithered sweet pea;
you lacked reality.

When you left
with the last wind of the season,
it was like waking up in a bed,
aware that your love reverie
was nothing,
nothing but a bunch of air
and haunting light.

In winter,
I like to imagine
the bare raspberry bushes, mad for the snow,
hanging in the black mood of the afternoon.

I see the bones of the orchard
cracking in the tantrum of mist
and I see you,
a skeleton of my faded longing,
real now, just as Death can be.