The spell of you is settling
across the meadow
warm, dewy, gossamer,
the sigh of fog finding rest
and all the chanting voices
swallow themselves
awestruck
at the scale
of the summoning.
Ephemeral and abstract
what stirs inside me
can only be described
by a choir,
by ritual
by outsourcing the outpour
to aspirants and astrologers,
all the breathless, exhausted wonder
of your name.
In the meadow, in the dark,
nobody has to know
that we were once known
to each other.

There was a halo
when I closed my eyes.
There was the bass line rumble
of the heart restarting
the old engine of destruction
rolled into the light once more.
There was a halo
when I closed my eyes
and it was chasing you
along the cliffs of the Baltic Sea
and singing sank around your neck
was a full-throated revelation
that only you and I could hear
and if I could hear you now
I would listen to your last words,
watch in wonder
transfixed
as the universe was written backwards
as the floor melted towards the sky
and be content.

There was a halo
that you took away
and it's been six years today
since I have seen the like.

My thoughts go with you
wherever you go
after all of this is gone.