The darkness outside the open window
drew out and for a moment
I could see the trees bending
in a strange yellow light
like those in the old photographs
of his handsome youth.
It was dark again
and the wind blew in
hassling the pages of an open book
I’d been reading from his library.
I got up to shut myself in
from the coming storm but not before
the thunder ripped and the rain came through
drowning out his favourite tune
on the turn-table he had gifted me. Then,

like a grown man’s wail,
the phone rang. HARD.

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