From last November's quiet recall to duty

This piece of graffiti on a dry-stone wall

His headstone verses are writ in water

Drawn by the eyes of his future daughter.

Lichen-lines-love-and-only-love-slaughters-this.

And all he knew was the deepest blue of Lapis lazuli

A  good man’s eyes are written in the blood

And mortal love will always end in death. Time

Weathers the stonemason’s art to a flat palimpest

Of Johnny Keats: a doctor, poet and magician

Your hieroglyphics do not resemble your untold zest

Of pumping blood. Stones do not record the passing

Shadows of your glance, a look.  Romance. Kisses

Eulogise your tear-filled eyes as we stare into winter

Fires, disguise is less than futile, it gives rise to demons:

For we must gather all the force that we can muster

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