The date of death arrives, again

Fifth time now — in many ways

worse than before, harder, harsher grief

Dragging now a shameful history

Of crippled function, gnawing, shaming loss

A proven failure, at this point, to keep on living

Like babe who sadly fails to thrive

But you are NOT a child

And it's your fault, you wallow in the void

And endlessly repine, as if you're shocked

still shocked, as if you'd thought

that you and only you would get a pass

on these dark edicts of mortality

A 10K walk has now become required

No cure — just some assuagement, some relief

if things you see are bright and sweet enough

they may engage the seething mind

shift the focus, always good

Although . . . with risk of things not bright

but vile, horrific, that may turn up —

that will in fact of course appear —

to birth the horrors, eye shock, pounding heart

the over-pay of bone-deep fear

And then again, some bright sweet things

now also bring their potent pain

Huge beds of lavender, almost fields

embraced the place that killed my love

Seemed hopeful early on, sarcastic now

wild spread of swaying deep-hued sweetness there

the frolic of pathetic fallacy

Two weeks I walked

through stripey bees and perfume every day

Twice forth, twice back, amazed anew each time

at all the poignant purple on display

all the busy buzzing, all the heady scent

And then, when he was due to be released

the error, and the death

So — lavender more nuanced now

and ours, this year, faltered, failed, then slowly died

so do not see or breathe it here at home

But it is everywhere this time of year

the scent, the sight, wherever you may turn

in this time of death and of such vivid life

***