Each year you will be clothed in
this pink caress and warmed by
shadows passing from granite to bark,
while smoke drifts between the stone
and the stable where a pony shivers
to greet the dawn.
And you in your fragile boat on smoothing
waves will disappear towards a cold horizon
as we lean forward begging your return.
But no word of farewell echoes here, no
final touch, no bleak reply, no comforting
word to satisfy, just smoke and dust
a blackened stain is all that’s here
and will remain.