For Martin Emmett
I write your name
on window panes
I clap out its five syllables
for the five fingers of my hand
and the five senses
lost and abandoned
I see deep white snow
and signposts buried in the drifts
I hear the jet black engine
running under my sternum
I touch the mirrored stillness
You still, me still here
I smell the red raw emptiness
bloodied, boned and free
I taste the green of bitterness
acid etching ulcers in a stomach wall
I trace the ink of your signature
follow each loop and dot of the ‘i'
that ‘i' Martin
that has been erased forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem