A Graveside Reunion

I can sense you forever watching me carefully
through the invisible veil.
Silently blessing my a-tishoo
during those long, rambling
Summer walks
through the woods,
in-and-out of our special, hidden places.
Your spectral breath
upon my cold neck
on early January mornings
when I’ve yet again,
fallen asleep upon the settee,
not making it to our (once) bed,
with nothing…
but your small picnic blanket
covering my shivering frame.
I am coming, my love,
though it is slowly,
I am inching back towards you
a snail-crawling day at a time.
I grimace through every empty breakfast,
but smile at each new Sunset…
which brings me closer home to your loving side.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.