Grief

It was intriguing, this cold dead ash. Your grief, stained and white in a blue china bowl. A handful of coarse sunlight spilled onto tears, You lift your eyes, like a retreating creature troubled By sawrming cries and phantom faces. Somewhere in the distance, our door lay open. We stop at the top of the stairs, on the draughty landing I try to remember your name, Your voice, your smile, coming home. But remember nothing more than you standing Watching me, quite unconsciously. I pause and feel you begin to despair. Then I turn and ask you to forgive me, but You cannot hear me anymore.