Black Blanket

I see us
in the curve of our love,
kissing in the sunlight
in a park.

I see my children,
walking them to school
in the forever long ago,
holding their hands,
believing in them,
our endless being.

I see us, friends,
digging in soil,
moving stones,
making a new place,
quartering oranges
and resting sharp
in our laughter.

I see the night
of dancing,
the roadside hurricanes
of passing trucks,
the traffic lights
like jewels
that guide us home.

I see the conversations
in the car,
big questions, 
simple answers,
the closeness 
of the journey,
just two of us

I see the rain
on the beach.
A collection
of small rocks
with seams like milk
and a rumour of ghosts
in their constitution
like a strange whisper.

I watch you walk.
I watch you play.
I hear your songs.

And if the time comes
to die alone and in torment,
crying out the names of the loved,
I, and others like me,
will have held our time,
and known it as surely
as a sheet of stars
on the black blanket,
where we last dreamt
then went to sleep,
shedding our tears
like light.

– Mark Mordue ©