At midday as approaching and finding out her place, now eloquent
at recollecting husband torn
from our affections & helpless to return the son's knock and sensing a
space where sons reclined,
once dead in Mary's arms-- she arrives ( pitiable death of children!)
& as daughter by that name
longish wisps languidly spreads over vest and pressed kerchief,
she arrives to sing for her
(if only she can!), the only voice she'd have heard and possibly felt
once a day, with a lonely rose
by that name that'd been reflected in gaunt cheeks the colour of
of a delicate cool stem, torn too...
Even at midnight if I'd been there to see returning smile and heart
as at a silent reunion, stayed
alone to see it, alone with that contrasting night indoors and out,
even as she's arrived & I wait
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