Where are the dead
who slipped like shadows
through our passing years?
Their memories have grown
brittle as their very bones
turned dust fine as sand
in hour-glass graves
They are not there
where once we put them
under the chestnut trees!
Nor were they there then
as the men in black suits
stood guard at the door
of inescapable earth
To keep them there
we placed heavy stones
engraved with their names
Yet like initials in tree bark
time has healed the wound
and we can no longer tell
the lovers they were
Where are the dead?
At worst long forgotten
At best fictional characters
in the novella we make of life
Ever less than we had hoped
and more than we realize
Snowflakes in the sea
“Follow the pathway to the sea”
Epigram on a St Andrew’s tombstone
Poet's Corner 