You


Sitting straight
In an outsize suit,
A puce tie,
Lines that time
Cannot hide

Palms creas’d
Inside an office tray
Your desk reveals
A disarray.
How far… my life…
My life from yours
…has strayed

…has strayed.

Resplendent days
Discard’d like leaves
Golden,
Dropping,
Dropping from
The skeleton tree

Her fingers point
To renewed green
To search the sun
Her flesh long since
Burned upon

Whilst moon
Moves o’er moor
Whilst death
Seeps into sea
Whilst tide
Spreads ash
Like hiving bees

You were life to me.

You:
Leaning into the sink
Singing
Your head lifting;
Honeyed singing.


© Martin Slidel 2018
Photograph © Martin Slidel 2018




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