24th August 2008,

I wandered into a Dark Room

and sat on a lonely stool.

I felt an itch, like a phantom limb, and

tottered, balance thrown in the dim.

And in that room I searched for you,

I heard your voice, but could not see.

I felt for you in that Dark Room,

My arms outstretched, but could not reach.

And then my grief it swelled, then crested,

Swelled and crested, but did not break.

Instead it rests inside my throat

Immobile grief, as I sit still.

As I sit still on that low stool

in that Dark Room I wondered in,

I feel for you the grief of ages,

in that Dark Room as I sit, still.