An Agonizing Therapy
Your death hurts just a little now, a jot
Among the tittles in the books
That fill the British Library and not
Enough for life to notice in the nooks
And crannies of the outward blasting bang
That science tells us is our space. Your end
Came striking through my soul, a lightning clang
In rippling river waters round the bend
Of decades’ separation. Now the aches
Your disappearance caused inside my bone
Cage settle more as stagnant ponds, not lakes
Of pain or oceans, and not Dead Sea moan.
If I could find a whisky that would bring
It back, that pang, I know that songs would sting.
