His headstone verses were writ in water
They draw the eyes unto the fact of death.
Lichen lines love-and-only-love remembers.
All we knew was the deepest blue
Of a good man’s eyes. It is written in our blood
That mortal love will always end like this. Time
Weathers the stonemason’s art to a flat palimpest
Of hieroglyphics which resemble not the zest
Of pumping blood. Stones do not record the passing
Shadows of a glance, a look. Such kisses we all desire
Will eulogise our tear-filled eyes as we stare into winter
Fires, and disguise is less than futile,
For we must gather all the force that we can muster
To face this meeting with our fates on All Souls’ Day.