Category Archives: death

depths called high

There is tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, Each rolls on, dark, unrepentant. Dry days heap one on one in dusting heaps since you plunged forth, Quiet in your falling, Silent off slipping, But inwardly, awkwardly utterly missed. You were not … Continue reading

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unhappy endings…

Heya Bab, It is rolling up to two months since I got home and there is still much I can’t quite say. There are things I want to write but so far I can’t even speak them without a round … Continue reading

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love lasts longer…

Love lasts longer than the falling sigh, The cast down look.

Posted in death, love | Tagged | 1 Comment

digging up the dead…

I’m sorry. The dead do not speak for us to hear them. All unanswered questions must be jam-jarred for a rainy day, The arguments sit pickled, part done when the chills come on. The love yous linger but they are … Continue reading

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being loved..

Heya Bab, This was our second winter without you but of course, as ever, you were very much here. We go into the hills to remember you, but the act feels pleasantly unimportant. We return there again and again so … Continue reading

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blooming beautiful fear…

I am home, whatever that means. I sit on the patio in the sunshine. Other worlds seem far away, and I am content with the dog tangling happinesses between my legs as breezes bowl clouds by in┬áthe┬ástreaming bright of summer … Continue reading

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grief 101: for a friend…

Sometimes tears still take me by surprise, but I look back at the full ferocity of my grief as a far away country. Now I can laugh at the time when I lied and said my ten-day-dead dad was fine … Continue reading

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the darkness in the heart…

There is a darkness in the heart of all good things, The black spot that grows great if you stare too long into the sun. In love there is brokenness like no other joy. In each birthing of hope there … Continue reading

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its alright…

Heya Bab, I know it has been a while since I’ve written, but you are often in my thoughts. You stop by with the mail in my inbox that spam-says its from you, in the silly line from a movie … Continue reading

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the little death…

Guatemala has become a land of convenience tourism. You can go from one hostel filled with foreigners to another, door to door, by dedicated shuttle bus, also filled with foreigners. The hostel staff, the travel agents, many of the travellers … Continue reading

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