Coffee and dusty shavings raise me beyond the tides
Across dune and bridge, south by south west, I soar
Boats pass listless, I turn my back to sea
Lonely spires scattered in an empty, tidy land
Barren and naked for winter, I blow into the streets
No grave there is to find you, no silent column speaks,
Death lies distilled among the putrid slumber 0f the trees.
The coffee takes me further, the house is near.
Only the hinges squeak that you have left.
The cross you denied, hovers still above the door.
I linger in the coffee, a caged bird wails, while
The needles tick in desperation, to occupy her hands
And mind, how long before she succeeds to tread
Safely into the unknown, and leave me this shell
Of dear and useless rubble, the guise of memory
The garden I dig for small mercies. Is there a way
Through creamy mud to grab you, have you stored
A fraction of a presence, a master key, in silt
Truth screams, from the creases in my eyelids
Closed, you were there, it was real, you were home