The Unforgiven

Tonight,near the opposite wall,
my vagrant floor stopped its walk,
looked up toward the Silence strung,
and travel-weary began to talk.

I never wore the rainbow plume,
nary a silver lining show,
but dusky,dappled ,darkling blend
the colour of yes ,the colour of no.

I know I failed the serenade,
was purblind to the tint of things,
but now I have a snow-white pigeon,
with just your name upon its wings.

She smiled---my pictured damsel blue,
a smile that hailed the passing birds,
it soft-lit ,once, her ebony eyes,
then darkening,bode the death of words.