All I can do for you is dream …
I know you’ll be awake now.
You’ll be out in the garden shed
as far away as you can get
from the house and its damp wreaths,
its stink of grief and lilies.
You’ll be sitting amongst
plant pots, pegs and windfall apples
Here the street is sleeping.
I skulk around the kitchen
in the dull fridge light, avert my eyes
and tiptoe past the pink Sloe gin.
I could drink now.
I could drink for me, for you,
for the whole of the island.
I could drink for remembrance,
knock back a teacup for all the dead souls
searching for that bright crack back into life.
I could drink now but it’s 4am
and I’ve got an empty bed to fill
and dreams to dream for both of us.