A BLEAK ISLAND OF LIGHT

To P. R. C.

There is the darkness of an

October night behind the windows,

the drawn curtains.

You are not here, so why

leave this bleak island of light

in the autumn dark,

to go in the breeze and the rain,

walk those desolate lanes

when you are not here?

There is no purpose, no goal

left, so here among the books

I lie on the bed; the blanket

and the pillow still have your scent,

a lingering phantom

for a single sense, your fragrance. 

There might be nothing

in the darkness

beyond this bleak island of light.

I wish.

09.10.2019