Above the tidal flats
we gather to read your poetry by firelight.
A gust of laughter makes words dance.
Ashes scatter.
Ingenious, irrepressible, irreverent,
you live again, high-kicking your way to Heaven.
Sand in our shoes,
it's time to go back to your old house.
The power is off.
Damply despondent, the walls weep
while wavering candlelight pools on the kitchen table.
We drink wine, pick at food,
wander from room to room, looking for you
in spine titles and faded photographs.
By muted moonlight
I notice a word drawn in the mantelpiece dust
and picture your gnarled finger
poised with purpose.
(Writing always held your attention
more than housework.)
Then I stare through sagging lace curtains
at the brilliance of stars.
Eternity
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