Sunday 12 November 2023



There was greater light

back then


despite the winter.


I remember those early days,

and walking back to my car

at 4am,

your apartment block a monastery.

The moon was full each night:

those six weeks were

the only weeks that ever happened to me.


There was never quite

that light


The arrows blocked the sun

until I spent a month or more

in darkness.

These latter weeks: they happened to me too,

but not like the weeks of light and moon.

More like alarms at 4am,

then 5, then 6,

until once more I slept right through.


A year or two of dim went by.


The other days come back,

with scars,

with dreams at night

reminding of that light

that came and went.



I even sit and smile now,


and that light returns


but from within.


But from the memories, too.


It’s hard to tell:

perhaps it won’t get quite as bright again.

But there was great light


and I’m grateful now,

not sad,

about that all.







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