close to death

loved ones bereft

read between the lines

a habit of mind

look again

out of the side of the eye,

more and more as time goes by,

what we perceive

we half-create.

aye! aye!

buried in the sky

a rumble of thunder

in a distant time

reverberates still 

in this clinging rhyme

i stare at her

though gossamer air

mesmerised:

now in this yew-strewn churchyard,

by the side of his grave,

i pray for

his immortal soul,

it is we, we, who grow old,

all the implications

arise! rise!

from that terrible dimming of the day

as i cry, i cry

whisper goodbye