The sun is a cold ghost
painted against the window
Your photograph is the moon
rising above the empty fireplace
the clouds are your words
black and heavy with dread,
Across the narrow street
the old give-way sign
where we scratched our names
now freckled with rust,
like your skin in new light.
The stars will arch upwards
a new path across the hills
illuminating all ,and this
especially this .
How I became subsumed
On a road that I assumed.