Whatever

Lights dim, music quiet, flying insects

inspecting wherever they land.

Silence in the silvery glow of the moon

on water, dancing stars’ radiance shining

from above.

Lying here, under his yellow blanket,

driven from sleep by my

imminent departure, head reeling,

thoughts dizzy,

returning to what? Recriminations,

interrogations, for why?

At least in seven days he will be

there for interviews.

I will join him in London,

catching up with faces from

our past, renewing old contacts.

Yet again departing for an airport

to say good bye again – hoping

for not very long, before realising

the dream of:

together for whatever may come

 

Baltimore 2009

Jean A Isherwood.