For the one I never knew, just how much I would miss you
Yet a new journey from one house to
another;
from scenes of a childhood to the scene of a murder,
the butcher,
of days when I could still dream.
I step onto the train, sit down on the floor,
with my back to the wall facing the toilet stall
door:
in this country we leave each other to search for
spaces that aren’t there.
Those pale blue eyes will never read the notes I was writing
in the margins of the novel I planned to give you
as a spontaneous gift / excuse for acting like a prick.
Thoughts & memories began their attack & so
I abandoned the project, left it to
the future
we knew would still be waiting.
Now, reading those scrawled excuses,
wishing
each letter was a bullet or sword,
piercing the presence of your absence,
I can only see those
last written words pinned to the wall
of the room in which,
for a while we performed the trick
of living.
Words for Ghosts 