A new poem, shared with The Mag.

THRENODIES

At the moment of her death
she saw the curtain fidget
around a hint of starlight.

At the moment of his death
he heard his mother’s voice from another room
neither scolding nor cajoling.

At the moment of her death
she thought she saw herself
in a fleeting doorway, as if from a passing train.

At the moment of his death
he heard the wind scouring the sand
across a vast beach out of childhood dreaming.

At the moment of her death
she saw two black hares  boxing
on a heath covered with clover.

At the moment of his death
he heard the taller doctor say
as if deep into his ear, “Remind me of this”.

At the moment of her death
she saw 10,000 children cresting the hill,
their white scarves streaming.

At the moment of his death
he heard the pages of his open book
riffling in a stiff breeze.

At the moment of her death
she saw the Holy Virgin along a panelled corridor.
They passed without a word exchanged.

At the moment of his death
he heard his name chanted in polyphony
above the beating of deep engines.

At the moment of her death
she saw the moon as a hole in the night sky,
its light all light there is beyond.

At the moment of his death
he heard the sun ping like a bust filament
and then the dark was all there was.