What You Are

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