Fabric

No ghosts to garner lost beliefs -
just failing feelings, unfelt griefs.

The tree of life has yellow leaves;
the cells of heaven break apart
and atomise the dormant moon.
I fail to feel what died too soon -
confetti falls like fading stars
while gutters plash the wedding cars.

I pin the cushioned days
with twigs of hope that strain to snap.
Our half-lies are half-lived
that tinkle in the chiming wind
their hollow notes of sounding brass.