Listen to this articleby Richard Clegg
Until this evening your signs were lean,
And for a time far between
When once legion, loving
Keenly felt and seen
One day you startled me, I swear,
With your presence in a feather
White and unexpected on a stair
In our Spanish casa where
We used to share our summers
With that sign you said
“Well done, hang in there”
For a long while you would often whisper
Encouragement in my ear
Would send the owls to hoot from afar
Or to roost in my tree quite near
And with their night calls,
Speak to me of your endless love
Your understanding of my loneliness
Awareness of my grief and despair
As I heard them in the dark or stared
Into their daytime eyes
I was comforted a sign
Like the feather
That was when I was filled with fear
Could barely cope without you near
Hour to hour
Day by day
Year by year
While still here yet knowing you’d be there
You once promised
Your presence in a breeze caressing my forehead
Then you were dead
There was nothing left but your signs
A feather, owls, a breeze
Your face in the full moon
Then for a while I was naughty and loose
With silly cigarettes and booze
My punishment? To lose
Your presence, the signs and
With your absence
silence
Itself a sign perhaps that I should find
Myself groping, stumbling
Bereft of help of any kind
Left to feel my own way Home
Alone
Until this Winter’s evening as I tread
The Marktplatz and all was dead where
Upon the moist cobblestones you spread
FEATHERS
Feathers Everywhere it seemed
As if a white winged angel had
Fought to death for me my Demons
Saying, “Fear not”
You had given me one last stunning sign
That all is fine
That it is time
This moment
This life
Is no longer ours but
Mine
