His headstone verses writ in water
Draw the eye unto the fact of death
Nothing left, bereft. Except the words.
Lichen lines that love-and-only-love remembers.

All we knew was the deepest blue of
This good man’s eyes. It is written in blood
That mortal love will always end like this. Time
weathers the stonemason’s art to a flat palimpsest
of hieroglyphics which resemble not the zest
or pumping blood of those lost defenders of Constantinople. 
Stones do not record the passing
Shadows of a glance, a look.
Such kisses that we all desire
Eulogise our tear-filled eyes as we stare into winter
Fires, and disguise is less than futile,
As we gather all the force that we can muster
To face this meeting with our fates on All Souls’ Day.