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Living with the shrine of a child

piles of clothes

books scattered

across the floor,

unclaimed places

places of silence

places my tears fall

somewhere my heart goes

as if you were here.







The call of the night

centuries ago

something in the veins, the soul

that drives you

out into the open air

to dance between the earth and stars.

Heaven is a smooth stone.







Running with the night

by the warm and Summer

following some unseen wind

artefacts but only missing.







As if you are disparu

just gone

I take in your clothes, books, the alarm clock

all the little things, eye drops

I take it all, keep it for you

as if you are still here

I live with you here

some kinder place

a place you belong.







Touched by the too much sun,

and the too much rain

he reaches for me

I feel his hands,

quiet on smooth stone.

The Summer breathes into the cold

I watch you go

I leave with you . . .

(you are for all my prayers).




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