In Memoriam: Michael Bulkley
Spare me, Lord, for my days are nothing.
My friend, though, who is not here as I am,
Is everywhere and in all things.
What is it binds us then?
Nothing but words –
This reading, this incantation, this great cry,
These voices woven in polyphony
Unwoven into silence.
Tomorrow, only the words in my head
As my days unpick themselves, till they are nothing.