Shadowlands

With sunset on some silver, see, clear shadow lines across the way, sharp bars confine and would restrict, prevention, falls, the common plea, ‘we want to keep you safe my dear’, for patient bed would cost too dear. Is there a strand of sand beneath, calm ripples of receding tide, waves’ gentle lapping on the shore - but surely there was space for more? I think her face, expectant, raised, the last of warmth from dying sun, a wistful stare from wispy hair, but his is down, contemplative. Here unities of time and space, their daily pace suspended, hear.

This stretch of land, brief marked, their prints, that blanche a whiter shade of pale - yet far beyond the vanish point, perspective dreams horizon sight. It is all screened in black and white, palette retired to monochrome, for those who know life’s not like that; but soon they’ll go where they don’t want, be taken where their place is wheeled. With blanket wrapped around her thighs, eyes as important as the stance, but what the glance, or even stare beyond the bar which others passed? And like the couple by the lee, their way hemmed in, what might have been, prevailing anorak and lap.

They ponder crossing of that bar, when wraiths are wreathed, not smiles but flowers, their silhouettes translate as shades.