Blackstorm is coming...

It blows to my head.

There is a blackstorm of leaving that has gathered and strengthened from the distant background - once a slight rumbling - to the foreground.

Two years become two weeks become three days become three seconds.

An unbearable roar. Chaos and disintegration. Then inevitable silence.

I cannot catch my breath knowing that you my heart are no longer here.

And as you depart I slowly drive away and you are in my rear-view mirror. I can barely see you. You do not look back. Nor do you turn and wave. Like you used to do. Thirteen years ago.

‘It is finished’ said one of the seven last words.

I return without you, and all of the hollow places that I have carefully mapped out over the past several years of my journeys back home - with the intention of poetry - flash before me unfulfilled. Empty.

Circumscribed by a nuclear glow.

I can never return to this project with you gone, as nothing makes sense without you here. I cannot write again.

Hollow places.

And recriminations and regrets and the unbearable burden of my own disastrous mistakes mean absolutely nothing. I cannot make it up to you. I cannot fix this.

I can only keep driving away. As I have long driven you away.

I counted years then months, weeks, days I could make this all up to you. But in the end I could not do it.

I leave you nothing but sadness.

Who who who. Who cooks for you...