Remission You and I no longer look one another in the eye, our children have stopped asking why. The mongrel rests her muzzle on my lap the mower judders to a stop, a jet pens a white line across blue sky, rush of bird wings as light enters leaves, branches tremble, an ambulance blares by, then stillness. Somewhere, someone is taking their last breath, Somewhere someone is entering the fire, smoke rising, bones crumbling to ash. When the time comes we will lie down before the wolf like lambs, while woodbine and dog roses release their scent, heavenward. Ger Duffy
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