you are the silence you are the crossword
that shoes in the room completed too soon
you are the voice you are the book
just felt in the air that still marks your place
you are the darkness you are the bed linen
where once there was light that does not need changing
you are the hours you are the Zimmer
no longer too short at rest in the cupboard
you are the hopeful Spring you are the chair
converted to Winter where others now sit
you are the Allbran you are the rhubarb
still left on the shelf that insists on still growing
you are the china mug you are the rugby
no one else uses no longer discussed
you are the addressee you are your picture
on letters in the post smiling on forever
you are the silver you are your voice
you collected and polished left on tapes
you are the medals you are my steady rock
passed on to your sons shattered by death
you are the emptiness
that cannot be filled
you are the dozen red roses you are as near as hot water from showers
that were not delivered caressing the body, diluting the tears
on St. Valentines Day
you are as far as washed tear drops falling
you are the sports coat into the core of the earth
still bearing the scent
of St Bruno and Aramis
you are as near as a child in the womb
you are the joy encircled and loved, an integral part
of hot summers in Crete
of living and laughing and loving
you are as far as the dancing of time
you are the ache into the wastes of infinity
that goes on and on
erupting in spasms of longing you are the moment
a white head in a crowd catches the eye
for a second it is you
you are the moment in the history of space
Enquiring grandchildren a scintillating note
ask where you have gone in the concerto of time
you are the moment but you were…
your last tear was split
a nanosecond in time
between the quick and the dead and you are…
you are the moment
between last post and reveille
when old men remembered and will be…
the sadness of youth
you are one moment
Anonymous