Schematagraph I

only now
at forty-eight,
older than you,
I wonder about those last days
former self shadowed
quilted under radiotherapy, knowing
you would
leave us behind

Lavender and Hollyhocks
Wireweed and Dabberlocks

only now
at twelve-twenty
later than I should perhaps
I notice a missing continent
the aching absence
recovered through psychotherapy, guilty
I gave you up
for dead

Buttercups and Saxifrage
Night-scented stock

just now,
your constance
caught up with me
I sensed you realised
another death
bound in serendipity, accepting
I would find moments
like this

Patrik Gryst (Nom de Plume)


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