The wonder of you in the just mundane
Brings me back to black again
Nothing, under heaven, remains the same.
The glint, the glance, the gaze, the smile,
The unconscious optimism of the passing mile
‘It’ll be OK’, ‘I’ll live to fight another day.’
Wrong, so wrong, I wish I didn't have to say.
Look down at the myriad of wild flowers
On your coffin along the river Bollin's ox-bow way
Born to make a magic carpet of the valley floor
The blue of lapis lazuli that you used to adore
I look up at the swirling clouds of grey-blue
And think of you, in all your parts, apart
Each aspect of you a reflection of an unwanted eternity.
Your glance that always sought to avoid hurt
Your turning of your back on modernity, your gentilities of flirt.
Your passing glance, your subtle variation in mood,
Your all-abiding, always secret, wish not to be alone.