Sailors believed it was bad luck
to retrieve that which was lost to the sea;
the sea can no more give back the drowned
than we can stand by their graves.
A neighbour chants private prayers
while the stereo gives tonal halleluiahs;
halleluiahs for a faith when there is so
little in the reviewed world to praise.
The youngest daughter forages her family
from collated video screens for the evening;
evening time measured out in
how-many-new and how-many-gone.
Little fingers bend colour across pages
and plot thank yous with a pressed thumb;
thumb and finger of parent adjust
their mask before visiting the sun.
May, the sunniest month on record,
all this light in which to see the dead.
Colin Dardis is a poet, editor and arts coordinator. His work has been published widely throughout Ireland, the UK and USA. His latest collection is The Dogs of Humanity (Fly on the Wall Press, 2019). http://www.colindardispoet.co.uk