Old women pass
to draw their pensions
from the threatened post office.
Their strength is not mine.
In older worlds, now lost,
lives fused forever. Though at night
ghost assailants struck
in dreams to break the restless free.
But life maps, at least, were clear.
In former ages
we would not have outlasted
these twenty years
allocated to our shared story,
for death would have found us first.
As it is, I tried to
love you for all our time
and asked you to stroke my neck
to ease the tension and longing
that came with that impossible task.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Ceinwyn Haydon
would be pleased to hear them.