Easter Monday for Louisa

Blossom’s dripping blood for you
the colour of your tears
Ceanothus nearly blue
trees are budding spooky green
like something from my
midnight dreams but where are you?

I saw a girl the other day
her blonde hair halo’d
just the way yours used to be
she could have been a replica
your daughter that was never born
if only you had stayed with me.

There’s talk of Jesus and his plight
but no one talks of you:
that dreadful night when terror hurled
you from the bridge to fall on broken ground.
Death appeared in pale moonlight,
he cut you down to size.

It must be twenty years or more
since we last spoke and yet
this spring is freaking out for you
Iris raise their violet heads a
delicate brand of excellence
to show me life goes on.

Louisa I can never tell
how much I loved you and
the day I heard you’d run from us
was filled with disbelief: others
mourn a man they never knew
dead a thousand years gone by.

This Easter makes me think of you
golden hair and boyish stance
our laughter never fades;
for me the blossom falls for you
in fragile swathes of make believe
it sings to me, our love song.

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