How are we to remember?
The silence roars in every space
The abandoned relics of civilisation passed
The desert where the bloated corn ripened once
The river bed with bones where the spawned shoals wove their dance.
How are we to continue?
Our actions of our own bidding
The silence beckons but does not insist
The empty rooms collecting the unheeded light
The darkness of evening spreading into walled-in night.
How are we to love?
The distance has stretched the tendrils
The goodbyes at train stations
The visits at the heavy points of the year
The tiny call from dots on the other side of the world.
How are we to settle?
The need has drained dry
The home waiting vast
The fridge stocked against an invasion
The beds sleeping undisturbed for a season.
How are we to grow old?
Anno domini is relentless
The lines creep ever deeper
The children approach their middle years
The body leans a little to the wind and tears.
How are we to be remembered?
The house was made a home
The smell of bread
The piano and the clock ticking
The summer cat and the winter garden.
How the family lives on
In the closeness of years
The additional loves
The new beginnings and growth
The long shared kinship of the precessing now.