After Bernard Pierre Wolff
Rain on benches in gardens of remembrance
reflects small portions of sky.
A chimney in the distance, belching out blackness
as if part of some regime.
Give me stars as casual gifts.
I fear a plateau: no hill to climb.
Place me on a precipice.
Cut me down for lamentation.
Who’s the angel? Her arm draped over her brow
& now fallen on marble.
Trees quiver gran mal seizures.
No-one offers stark witness:
a weight of words too heavy to lift.
No-one wants hearts anymore
or knows anything of myth.
In a corner a columbarium calls.
Arches like ventricles I’ll hide behind.
Kneeling on my catafalque
she’ll let her tears escape their walls.
has a poetry collection, Full Sight Of Her, published by Eyewear Publishing (2020). He has been shortlisted for the Bridport Prize and teaches English Literature and Creative Writing at the Open University.