Absence

Last night,
a whistling rang out
piercing the empty rooms.
I searched every dark corner,
like a lost child seeking its mother
searching for the source of my discomfort.

As the sun set,
withdrawing its bony fingers of gold
from my windows
I found myself in total darkness.
I took the bedsheets and shrouded myself
in self-pity.

Sleep gathered me up,
took me down to a strange place,
I dreamed that my blood flowed out
staining the bedsheets, 
as a beautiful rorscharch test.
Later they would bring you in,
ask you what you see? 
Is there anything you recognise?
Or is it all meaningless blots?
There are no right or wrong answers.

I dreamed you came back to me,
Tearing into the room, with love and angst etched
on your familiar face.
You would tear the curtains open,
let the golden dawn dissipate
this nightmare.
Use that voice you have, 
that can calm a dying beast.
Run your fingers through my hair,
like that first time I was sick.

When I awoke,
A grey light penetrated the derangement,
of my room for one
My bed sheets tied in tortured knots
like a grieving widow's arthritic fingers
my nightgown removed and lying on the floor
like a crumpled buttonhole rose
Discarded in the dirt.