Lament for Lidia
(on the occasion of her fall from grace at St Paul’s)
no promise
of a retrospective
this, as all marble
is cold
stone of the dead
head stone tomb stone
it will neither welcome nor deny you
whatever you give to it
can’t be received
or returned
what of the fall?
what filled that graced unseemly void?
that last dance
were all your thoughts..
was your thought..
was there
thought?
was it lost, as you were?
I know I should care
I wish I had a howl in me for you
history and lies brokering
some stupid story
as we worked that day
with mops and buckets
toiling against uncanny gazes
I shed my own tears, all for me
such a joyless carnival
sham and shame
bent backs and old
still enough to hold these bloodied fancies
above the truth