This unholy blur started with shivers:
Our lives’ coldest spell.
You were gone for no reason;
Time passed slowly while snow fell.
Ireland froze, except for rivers of tears.
Susanna chose well: her achievements
Measured seasons, years,
Serving as time’s token.
For your mum and me, life was generally
Some stained glass and some broken.
Bereavements gather special force
On treasured dates, at Christmas;
We move through memory’s gates
Towards familial completeness:
Our happiness’ source,
And continue to taste sweetness.
Colours are as strong
As when you walked in these parts,
But something still, of course, is wrong.
Your room changes without changing
In the house, in our hearts:
Old pictures on the wall.
And words, after all,
Are just pebbles from the riverbed
For endless rearranging, day by day,
While life is flowing water.
Love’s the sky,
And no, we have not said—
We’re not going to say—