i.m. Della Penny
A hard frost lasted for months that year.
Grey leaden skies an icy haar
clinging to the city, to basalt walls,
hidden closes; a castle suspended
in black myth, shrouding its bloody secret.
Memories hung as waifs between the trees
and mingle with the tourists of Princes street.
Thin shadows, wraiths and ghosts were moments cast
in translucent amber and fixed to times
spent in cafes talking. Rain and sunshine
whispered as we, mostly laughing, sometimes
grave, set the world to rights. Haunting
me still, the short eternity of your last days;
you slid unwilling, through morphine’s mist.
Published in Orbis, winter issue (158) March 2012