The Letter

After A.W.

This is the ancient steel nib with which

I wrote you, love, a letter through my throat;

I am writing this through my oesophagus-

My silent throat a huge and growing wound.

I have not walked a barren road to come to an end

Salvaging nothing; I have not given myself wholly,

Would not have let you mayhem me wholly,

Were it to face an end uninhabited by you.

Years we struggled on our one worn track-

First loving, converging, finally raging and tearing apart

A thousand miles in opposite directions- you surging forth,

Strong, unforgiving and I, as always, glancing back, a wound in my throat,

My whole body longing, and dissolving to a pillar of salt.

October, 2009. Lorcan Black.