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.
it was one swift and its shadow.
My years turn
like a key in a lock.
Now the knowledge,
now the wisdom.
I dreamt of you last night. Perhaps
that is too much inappropriate
but I did. The fact is there.
I dreamt of you
and promised you a story
in my dream.
I dreamt we were asleep together
and in my dream
I dreamt of you. I dreamt
that held us together until
the very end.
Its narrative was loose and
shaky and there were
twists and turns
that I could not quite follow
and cannot now recall.
But the dream was a story
and the story a dream
and we were together
and that is the end.
fog lifts to show snow on hills
the folly’s columns are silhouette
clarity of view and thought
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
rain batters roof tiles
the red shutters may not hold
my heart is not storm ready
but who is the one
who is the one who
is the final one
who is the only one