Gavin reads an enamel plaque
on a concrete birdbath below
four blue clocks – true north is
implied by one of those faces/
God is too far to register every
minute marked over lead paint
& see countenances [his angle
set by our old misdemeanours]
In this churchyard [alongside a
stone set to recall a long-dead
missionary] my pain redounds
on a thought-chiselled bench –
In memory of.. a soul loved too
much to forget/ A yew denies
seeing anything as it watches
every headstone tilt over time –
witnesses to a wearing away of
names & dates & rarer refills of
flower pots by bent mourners &
then observed left alone – bereft
in this acre of dearly departeds –
I wait on time to halt – four faces
to stop & squeeze on my breath –
to take my life [my full measure]
but it passes – hour-kept treaties
of scribed plans keep me alive &
a cog in God’s plays [impromptu]
one stage for us indigent actors/
Perhaps Gavin fed birds here – on
this bench he would sit & scatter
crumbs to [now rare] sparrows/ In
time we’ll be him – a worm feeder
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