Shrine

Years after my youth
I return to this old place
(I grew up here/have grown
since)…

resurgence/renewal,
same voice of wind in the oaks,
same shadows they cast on the old pond,

even the same silence at the shrine,

but the door is closed,
one
centre
missing,

my mother …….. long gone
and finally now true grief has found me;

all I can do, is fill my tears
with the pain (red hot needles
in my throat) −

too much world came between us then
for me to see
what mattered most.

I am glad they let me lay your ashes
by another oak nine years ago;

the last seven were the way in
into the time now
where I am your son…

This candle is for you.