SLOWLY, SILENTLY, NOW THE MOON

I treasure this little scrap
of moonlight you left behind
as you stepped into memory

you recede from me
like a sea
running to meet its horizon

you imprisoned
in (your own) parenthesis
the words continue without you

Death unclasps
the Present from the Future
now all things are Past

*

Written somewhere over the Hindu Kush

What happens at death....time instead of being joined up writing or linked to each other are unclasped from each other and the link is broken...everything is now made of past as there is no more future.

Written for my sister Junie...a little scrap of a memory...just the back of a bare heel leaving a room and stepping from a moonbeam...impressed itself on me though I was only 7 and there it stands...lonely and insignificant until flying to India I look out the window and underneath the Hindu Kush crawls by like a petrified sea and this tiny moment comes to visit me.

I can still hear her reciting SILVER by Walter de la Mare to a me that was only three.