On the eve of the Triduum
I learn that verse
is built from memorable speech
scores of stanzas you spoke
into the annals of my recovery.
The days with you are for listening
I shall always remember the things I learn
when my chin presses your shirt sleeve.
“Do you know why they call this a passion flower?”
you spin out the rhetorical
gather me close with one arm
the other traces wounds
finger wends
around the thorn crown.
Small wonder the eponym of
so many poems takes birth
in short days we share.
"Now we can build real precious memories."
(another verdict delivered
in a quiet station car park )
I had no choice but to kiss you and believe.
