Memorial

It’s absurd to imagine

That my death, all this mess, will one day be

Commemoration, a tidy object.

Yes, I know that’s life and memory

But this – my death, my end of everything –

Subsumed into fact like concrete hardening

So that in a year, ten years, one hundred,

This strange tree, my shallow breathing

Will be writing on granite, and silences.

The sun’s rising and soon those clouds

Will meet it. It will be sunny somewhere

And cloudy in other places.

11^th November 2018