The magpies deliver their message
A taunt. He’s not here.
He’s not coming back. No surprise –
just a thudding realisation of wasted
To a history, a slipped time, a realer place.
Fingertips grasp – a life after. An after life.
Thoughts outside ourselves are together.
Your promise will end but mine won’t.
I pick up, move away, dream on –
A whole new history, new people, new ways
but after the blood we can go back
to that first night, look in my eyes.
A far future always together.
A love poem, of sorts, one that I wrote a long time ago as a start of a collection and found recently while sorting through poems to submit and publish.