From last November's quiet recall to

This piece of graffiti on a dry-stone wall

His headstone verses writ in water

Drawn by the eyes of his future daughter.

Lichen-lines-love-and-only-love

For all he knew was the deepest blue of Lapis lazuli

A  good man’s words writ in blood

And mortal love will always end like this. Time

Weathers the stonemason’s art to a flat palimpsest

Of names and dates.

Johnny Keats: doctor, poet, alchemist, magician

Your hieroglyphics do not resemble the untold zest

Of pumping blood. Stones do not record the passing

Shadows of a glance, a look.  Kisses

Eulogise your tear-filled eyes as you stare into winter

Fires. Disguise is less than futile:

For we must gather all the force that we can muster

To face this meeting with our fate,  on All Souls’ Day.