What Will Survive Of Us Is Love

We burned you into little shells and stars
Melted fingers into perpetual prayer,
Blazed the manuscripts of our library.
In memoriam, set fire to the psalm breeze.

There is no other place where
Their ghosts can ever roam,
Than in our hearts’ mantelpiece.
The hearth will soon be a heath
Where no kites or birds fly.

In the unforgiving space between minds
Guillotined by Alzheimer blades,
Absence anvils the tender hearts:
Each hug is a final hug.
 
From Dad, the strength and compassion
From Mum, the fear and written word
From my land, the defiance and fight.

From the road
I can see the bonework ridge
Shallow shadows of the cemetery,
Wreathed in rust I navigate my way
To where my mind flowers on death’s stalk.

Trudging gravely over russet duvet
A starling banks as a slumbering jet,
Silence rose until it was still.
Curling leaves into my jacket pocket
I heeled towards home (which is
Nothing more than post-code).

The leaves bleed into the carpet
Whispering secrets to the tables and chairs.

We were child once.