She didn’t know it was her final day –
could never know the way that it would end.
But even so she would have done the same,
spent the afternoon curled in his chair,
the evening shadows in his company.
If he was sound then she was like an echo,
If he was music she became the air.
She didn’t realise it finished then,
Her wander round the garden touching things;
forever now she has just left the room,
slipped out into the dark. No summing up,
no chance to count the blessings
the certainties that she gave as a friend,
her last day plays itself over again,
again, again and nothing’s in the reckoning.
And neither of them was to know
tomorrow’s dawn would find him there
one left
with her shadow curled up in the chair.
Lyn 