Beneath The Yew

Wallpaper worn, yellowed with years,
memories unchanged, unchanging,
unchangeable now.

Photographs in closeted stillness,
rigid in fears, if viewed
would his image disappear.

Eggshell mottled, her hands busy
their emptiness with his favourite things
as she talks and she talks to his ghost.

The dust settles;
we circle,
drifters in her night.

-------------------
2004

layout edit 29.09.10