You were still there
in your absence.
The moon
stripped of distance,
planted in the ice
of a frozen pond.
You touched me
with your shadow.
I knew the mist
of your words,
the vapour trail
of laughter.
My breath
is now speechless,
I say only with my heart.
The metaphor of your moon
tingles on my skin,
yet the cold escapes me.
Clothed in a summer garden,
wearing your dreams.

Rowland Hughes ©