Vale

The mood in this place is a full saturation,

Administration of the weight of life,

A rite.

A ritual of peering at the knowledge

That that space of his is empty.

Empty,

Despite the figures of his that scatter there:

The coffee mug,

The work half-done,

The fingerprints of his passing

Fading soon to the nameless detritus of

A colleague departed.

 

How to operate under that weight?

When the room is silenced,

The shifting tap of keys

Hit like a reprimand – to recall again the news

And pause, and wait in that weighted space,

And feel the thudding of your own heart,

A comfort that brings fresh tears,

For there are no more years for some-

And we farewell a life that was fair and well,

And all the days to come.

 

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