Always

 

They think it’s long ago and far away,

those who read what I wrote of you

forty years ago and more. It’s an old story

yes, but nothing of it has faded. 

‘Love,’ you wrote, ‘as long as you’re still 

the person you are today.’  I’m not, of course,

but dying fixed you in time. You are always, 

now, the person you were then. So it’s true

what I had written (first) to you: ‘Love always.’

That’s OK. I’m glad to hold you in my heart 

for eternity — or as long as I shall live …

The night around me grows very still.

It is past the midnight hour. 

How many dear ghosts walk?