The images you capture
With the shutter
Of your eyelids are

The sounds that come
From your lips are

The ground that you
Walk upon is

The love that you hold
In your hands is

The bed where
You lie is

The time that
We shared is

But you are not
Of this world.

A hundred and forty
Happy birthday me!
Funny thing is I don't feel
A day over a hundred and ten.
So I'm going to spoil myself rotten
Bacon, sausage and egg
Flavour crisps for breakfast
Five cheese pizza
Flavour crisps for lunch
And asparagus in wine and steak
Flavour crisps for dinner.
Crisps! I love them
They changed my life,
But personally, for me
There is never enough salt.
I always carry some with me
So I can have a little sprinkle.
And Maddy is over the Avian flu now
So we can meet up.
She was quite ill for ...
Oh, a good few hours
I told her not to feed the swans
But that is her all over, reckless
And she's funny about her age,
As if it's some great secret or mystery,
She always tells me she's ten years
Younger than me
But she's got to be at least a hundred
And fifty, if she's a day.

When we lay holding hands this morning
I could see that your every breath
Was really a prayer.
Then through the curtains I saw
My love was luminous gold
On the plateau beneath the Luberon
And scented with pine,
Roses and thyme.
I watched it roll down rows of vines
Olive trees and wild rosemary
And become a field of sunflowers near St. Remes,
Then it joined the parade of poplars at Le Thor
Was shouted from the mountains
East of Vaison-la-Romaine
And whispered in the ancient
Narrow streets of  Menerbes.
So I wondered if this was a new beginning.

I turn out the light
And my room grows hushed
Like an audience that has come far
And braved the weather.
Then I hear what sounds like angels' strings
And there is singing
Your voice, softly at first
Like snowflakes on a window
Clearer now, a morning star
And it is your music
Stepped out of the firelight
Danced out of this world
And taking me with it.

It was a day made for drying
And for sailing away.
A balmy intoxicating breeze
Swept in off the sea
Turning the heads of old sailors
And taking the sails of towels
Which billowed, swayed and pulsed
And mesmerized by the tribal rhythm
Danced themselves into a frenzy
Of desire and passion.
So I hung out the rest of the washing
You left draped about
In your hurry to leave
And sailed after you.

Reaching the island I lay low until nightfall
Then climbed to the cliff top
Where I found you unguarded
But still bound by the ropes
That must have stopped you embracing me.
So I cut them and led you down
Through the moonlight and stars and spray
A silent getaway, I had hoped for
But you called out for help
To the pirate who had captured your heart -
Just as he did on the last wash day.

Every night I prayed
Thankful for my life
A home, a job, a son, a wife.
My prayers, I believed,
Kept it all together.
Thankful also for our health,
Grateful for the simple things
For I thought
If I took nothing for granted
My prayers would have
More chance of being noticed.

And then you left.
Taking your prayers with you
Must have meant you stopped
Praying for me.
I quickly realised how yours
Had been the only ones
That had been listened to.
Mine had probably never
Reached their target,
Falling somewhere back to earth.

Holding my breath,
Just beneath the surface
My fixed waiting stare
Until it was my turn
And then you used me,
Joyously, like love,
You filled my sky
With your patterns
You shook my sun
And changed my Shadows
For I was a stepping stone
And I remember you
As I remember my life.

The shushing
Of cars on the main road
Like waves and pain
Zoned out
To get us through the day
Like stars in the daylight
Overpowered quietly
By the sun's rays
Making me squint
Blurring a language
Garden birds know
Nothing about
As they fuss instead
About a few seeds
And a bowl of water
And squirrels arguing
Over a handful of nuts
And who buried
What, where
And all of us
Sharing a passage of time.