Until the End

Gilded silence, gold, The last leaves' silent fall Pain silent Late autumn’s Slow crepuscule She turns her hands in her apron Blue patterns, blue Her smile will never die The swans swing south sighing Evening comes soon, sooner, She insists, at the stove, heat, red, Redder, the last meals we try Not to take for granted Quiet dying, quiet, the colour Runs slowly from her skin, Her eye turned inward blindly On her own long dissolution We walk we talk we baulk At the black pall, black, Open our eyes only once the Stiff ground engulfs her