Leaving.
Underneath the granite slab and the hard, cracked, earth we placed you
hand in hand with death. Lovers under the sod of time and there was silence
but for the eerie wailing sound of the seagulls scavenging round the docks beyond the wall.
I felt for a moment I could hear your voice, calling me, hairs rising on my arms.
The dull thud of clay on coffin lid brought me back to tears and the sharp lash of the wind.
We stood there, a tight knit group holding each other and keening silently inside our souls.
In autumn’s silky light prayers are said. Flowers spread in a pattern
only you would know and like. The colours vibrant; the scent of lilies and of death.
Under the ivy-clad ancient walls of Forthill lie the many, dates and names faded now.
You amongst them, a new companion, a friend, a visitor whose life force spreads out
Throughout the burial ground.
Shoulders hunched a brief glance back as I leave you to the elements.
The seagulls cry in the distance.
Death