Catechism
Did he come?
Yes, he came.
When did he come?
One morning, early in spring.
Did he speak?
At first he just stood,
looking out of the window, watching the morning,
but then, later, he spoke at some length,
quietly.
What did his voice sound like?
Like bells at evensong, sad and distant.
What did he look like?
A shadow, a shape, a silhouette,
slender against the spring light.
Did he smile?
Oh yes, sweet and plump as an orange, he smiled,
but only the once
and it shone like a fish leaping in sunlight.
Why did he smile?
Something I asked him.
What did you ask?
The cost of loving?
What was his answer?
The smile.
What did he talk about?
He asked after you
and talked of troubles
Troubles?
The pain of living
the drug of dreams,
the struggle between is and seems.
Anything else?
The curse of gravity
the press and passage of the years
laughter, friends and tears.
Did he leave a message?
He said he would wait but not to hurry,
there was plenty of time yet.
When did he leave?
It was night, very late.
The last owl swooped,
soft as whispers of love.
I wish I had been there.
He said you would say that.
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