Xavier

In a spartan cafe', redeemed by our needs, don’t make me trade, a blonde bright lit home, for an invisible enemy, where shadows climb walls, in the falling rain, we reel at the infirmary, an echo of empty cradles, a doctor's sad tone, more than we can ever be, love worn and gone, on hospital alleyways, the absence of a heartbeat, like a dismal train, pray at St Peter’s dome, loss brings no certainty, just whistles forlorn, over the sea.