The longer the sun is in the sky,
the longer you are not here.
When the world is dark from end to end,
the hills shoulder-firm against the rising of the light,
the space where you are not is dull.
But in the light,
shadows sharp-lined across the floor and sheets,
the emptiness is marked.
Though hope may be,
you lack.
You smiled quietly when we gave you a card, cleared your throat and said thanks. We found them all you know, when we were clearing the loft, all in date order (you’d pencilled the date on each envelope), held together with a rubber band, wrapped in plastic and sellotaped down. I’m not sure why we all wrote this one.
It was not your ghost, of course not,
you have not passed.
But the thought of you, the spirit of you,
the word you had given to be here.
From the empty bed, pillow unpressed,
to the empty cup, no coffee in the kitchen air,
the space where you should have been,
the emptiness of your promise is my companion.
Their coordination held me,
always together, wingtip to wing, parallels and curves.
Then though
it was one swift and its shadow.
My years turn
like a key in a lock.
Now the knowledge,
now the wisdom.
I wait.
His plate was empty again but he did not remember eating anything. He was not hungry though so he must have eaten. Perhaps he had fallen asleep afterwards. He rubbed his eyes. His plate was empty again but he did not remember eating anything.
Waves of haar rolled in on the witching wind. Evening birdsong died away. For the first time ever he dared take her hand and she held his tighter than he had ever hoped. In silence they stood and walked away, glad of the quiet mist. Tomorrow the sun would shine.
The beach stones are thousand-year smooth, grey light grey when the clouds clear the moon, black as the night when the misting returns. The sky-black sea crashes foam white at its border. If there are voices, they are distant, both in place and time.
the only person on the riverbank walking away from town
the only person with no dog or a rugby scarf
he holds his shopping bag tight and swinging slightly
See? I have a right to exist. I have every right to be here.
it has rained and rained on the hills upstream
the river flows deep, the colour of builder’s tea
beyond the last fields the sea waits
