This is how we stand

This is how we stand, then, after you.
Hands clasped, unfocused gaze upon the ground.
Nothing has been altered. No-one moves.

Outside, the tactless neon of the town
Remains undimmed; October's algid touch
Makes no special concession. The same crowds

On red-trimmed terraces where you once stood
Will not be choked to silence, but will give
Full throat to every hymn that you once sung.

As this year fades and winter closes in
We who remain will find a quiet room
And, together, quietly toast the life you lived
And try to keep alive the world you knew.
This is how we stand, then, after you.


Mick Conley

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