to Lola

He’d hoped that hearing some of what she'd heard,
The night she died, before the music ended,
Might somehow help his broken life be mended;
And let him comprehend all that occurred:
A single bullet to her chest incurred
From terroristic wrath; they were descended
From migrants who were hosted and befriended
In suburbs, where the racists once preferred
Their absence; but this absence makes him think
Of living without her, throughout his days;
It makes him realise, despite the time
He gives to memorials, he cannot link
Himself to that unfinished song: his gaze
Is fixed upon his lost, loved Valentine.