N J Griffiths

Tag: poem

  • Vermilion


    Raw amnesia like mornings,

    like pillows, your hair falling,

    spilling into weeks. 

    Can you see the words 

    I leave for you? A trail

    in light, likeness in the linseed,

    vermilion in turpentine. I close 

    the windows. Watch my hands

    pluck memory from carpet strands

    I stand too close, I see too much

    I ask to forget and then – 

     – morning again – clear

    and wretched

    and almost beyond thought.

    © Nia Jane Griffiths 2024