III
When you died the future took a shortcut
to some wretched unmapped territory.
I cloistered myself and what I’d become
within the confines of these ageing limbs.
Nowadays with no itinerary
no skills to cope with memory’s intrusions
I fumble for some meaning or purpose
in this unfathomable mystery.
Wearied by the weight of time and weather
with neither compass nor stars to guide me
I’ll trudge, a nomad still, to that last halt.
Although the gesture might well seem pointless
perhaps there’s still time to light a candle
to bring a glimmer into the darkness.
© Tony Ullyatt