I realise you have died
but cannot accept the hollow
at the base of my throat
where once you hung
a brilliant jewel of ruby hue
shedding a glowing rouge
against the paleness of my
shy dependency

There is a spike in my eye
pushing from the inside
seeking egress

The light

torment

diffused
to shed shadow and suggestions

I'm not leaving you

though your ticket
is stamped
the edges ragged and torn
from the book of moving on

It matters not
or so we said
somehow we would cross
the boundaries
staked out upon the shore
of the river Styx
dragging you back
from the clicking bone fingers
the ferryman beckons with.

Air has turned to glass
but does not cut my lungs
as our goodbye
has done