Wednesday, 1 August 2018


Sitting in the garden,
having just started
a poem about my father

and the clouds moved aside
to make way for the sun.

Coincidence again,
or synchronicity,
but there it was,

and with it, my shadow cast
on to the bright white pages
of a new notebook;

the contrast of dark and light.

And there you are,
in my long-troubled mind,
the light on your face,

and all of your mystery,
and all of our sadness,

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