Etched In Fauve

The unease remains long after the pain ebbs
there’s no going back to that innocence once
etched in fauve dimensionally, of relief with
flows and swirls familiarity; was it naiveté or
an age growing ripe with self-belief, too long
coming to suppress easily, too far gone to be
excused for incurable words expressed; at its
end parting was the only real sanity left

Yet enmity played no role; envy perhaps, say
an inimitable sufferance blanched by its time-
honoured duty at stake – or forgiveness worn
handsomely as a mother’s veil. There were no
recriminations, no threats other than onset of
aching loneliness still evidenced this day
© 27 July 2013, I. D. Carswell