A president might have been conceived today;
A book begun, a cause, a truth, an army
New particles might flare across a screen;
At very least, there wasn’t a tsunami.
Such days make years; the years stack seamlessly
Like micrometres on a coral reef
But someone who I cared for very much
Is gone: and all I have is gasping grief.
Let the historians stack and cut the cards
In geological terms, we’re all just coral;
Be kind. Love one another. That’s all there is.
It’s not worth going looking for the moral.
A friend died today, and – while my poetry is mostly proof that I should stick to writing prose – I deal with things by writing, so, yeah. There are people in Heavy Ice on a planet around Dekker’s Star; it was supposed to be a fun little homage to a game we started designing together, not a sodding tribute in memoriam.
More about Kay here: scroll down past the stuff about .epub editions of the books.
Ankaret Wells 